THE  LIBRARY 
OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT  OF 


UR.  &  URS.  FRANK  H.  DEARXNO 


Twinkletoes 


Tw  triplet  oes 

A   Tale  of  Limehouse 


By 

Thomas   Burke 

Author  of  ''Limehouse  Nights,''  "London  Lamps, ^^  etc. 


NEW  YORK 
ROBERT  M.  McBRlDE  &  COMPANY 

1918 


Copyright,  1918 
Robert  M.  McBride  &  Company 


Published  igi8 


To 

Cranstoun  Metcalfe 


7G2iJ|.8 


MONICA  MINASI  was  named  Twin- 
kletoes  by  the  teacher  at  the  Council 
School  which  she  attended  in  her 
early'' jTars ;  and  you  had  but  to  glance  at 
her  tempestuous  limbs  to  realize  that  no 
other  naiiif.  beV)rged  to  her. 

When  she  arrived  in  Shantung  Place, 
Poplar,  she  had  a  mother  and  a  father.  But 
within  a  week  she  had  other  friends.  Mother 
at  first  didn't  like  her  to  play  in  the  streets 
as  other  children  did.  She  said  it  would 
make  her  grow  up  rough,  and  run  in  the 
gutters,  and  tear  her  clothes;  and  that  no- 
body respected  a  mother  who  allowed  her 
children  to  run  in  the  gutters.  But  there 
were  nice  differences  in  Shantung  Place;  it 
was  easy  to  find  a  sympathetic  set;  and 
when  Twinkletoes  told  her  mother  how  nicely 
the  Matchkey  boys  and  girls  behaved,  she 
was  allowed  to  play  in  the  street  after  school, 
so  long  as  she  didn't  run  in  the  gutter,  and 

came  in  before  dark. 

7 


T^winkletoes 


You  see,  Twinkletoes  hadn't  got  a  garden, 
because  she  and  Mum  and  Dad  lived  in  one 
room.  Dad  worked  all  day  as  a  sign-writer, 
but  only  Twinkletoes  seemed  to  recognize 
what  a  wonderful  sign-writer  he  v/as,  be- 
cause, however  hard  he  worked,  he  never  got 
much  money.  And  he  wanted  money;  he 
often  told  Mum  so;  not  for  himself,  but  in 
order  to  give  Twinkletoes  a  good  show ;  for, 
as  he  often  said,  "If  a  kid — girl  especially — 
don't  get  a  good  send-off  these  days,  she 
don't  never  get  nowhere." 

Still  Twinkletoes  was  happy.  Living  in 
one  room  does  not  necessarily  imply  living 
in  a  piggery,  a  miserable  corner  of  a  miser- 
able garret,  all  dirt  and  disorder.  It  all 
depends  on  the  manager.  Miun  knew  all 
the  tricks.  That  one  room  was  not  a  pig- 
gery; no,  a  snuggery.  For  a  long  time 
Twinkletoes  thought  it  diplomatic  to  hide 
the  horrid  truth,  fearing,  from  what  she  had 
overheard  between  Mum  and  Dad,  that  it 
carried  some  kuid  of  social  outlawry.     But 

8 


'Twinklefoes 


she  let  it  out  gradually  to  the  Matchkey 
boys  and  girls,  and  when  Mum  said  they 
might  come  to  tea,  and  when  they  said 
they  didn't  care  whether  it  was  one  room 
or  Windsor  Castle,  Twinkletoes  touched 
heaven. 

The  elder  Matchkey  boy  adored  her.  Her 
peach-soft  face;  her  nineteen  golden  curls; 
her  eyes  like  flowers  that  made  a  resting- 
place  for  a  thousand  expressive  butterflies; 
her  epigrammatic  legs  in  their  darned  stock- 
ings; her  black  silk  coat  and  the  flaming 
vermilion  tam-o'-shanter  and  the  glory  that 
dances  about  a  girl  when  she  is  twelve;  all 
thrilled  the  JMatchkey  boy  as  he  waited  at 
the  gate  of  the  boys'  playground  at  the 
Council  School  to  see  her  turn  the  corner. 

At  dinner-time  they  would  walk  home 
together,  turning  down  side  streets  to  see 
if  Twinkletoes'  Dad  was  working;  and  when 
they  saw  a  brown  ladder  outside  a  shop 
they  knew  that  Dad  was  atop  of  it,  with  his 
palette  and  his  knife  and  his  brush,  creating 

9 


T^winkletoes 


wonderful  golden  words,  like: 

The  Hope  and  Anchor 
Free  House 
or 

The  King's  Head 
Charrington  &  Go's  Entire 
or 

Good  Pull  Up  for  Carmen 
No  Connection  with  the  House  Opposite 

And  Dad,  a  little  wiry  elf  like  man, 
would  look  down  at  them,  and  spit,  very 
carefully  out  of  their  way,  and  say: 

"Well,  old  Cockalorum,  'ow's  she  going?" 
And  Twinkletoes  would  look  up,  and  say: 

"Ain't  my  Dad  wonderful?  Ain't  he 
the  cleverest  man  in  the  world?" 

At  one  o'clock  Dad  would  descend,  wipe 
his  hands  on  the  seat  of  his  trousers,  and 
breathe,  "Ah!"  heavily.  "Some  day,"  he 
would  say,  "we're  going  to  make  money. 
Young  Twinks  here  'as  got  to  'ave  a  piano, 

10 


Twinkletoes 


some'ow.  She's  got  a  knack  for  it.  Trouble 
about  one  room  is,  you  can't  get  a  piano  in, 
even  if  you  can  afford  one.  She  'as  to  go 
round  to  Auntie  AHce's  to  practice  now. 
But,  never  mind,  we'll  wangle  it  'fore  long. 
We'll  'ave  a  piano,  and  a  room  to  put  it  in, 
not  'alf  we  won't.    Come  on,  shavers!" 

"Ain't  my  Dad  wonderful?" 

The  ]\Iatchkey  children  agreed  that  he 
was,  chiefly  because,  producing  little  else 
of  value,  he  had  yet  produced  Twinkletoes, 
his  "old  Cockalorum."  It  was  Twinkletoes 
who  had  played  pianoforte  solos  at  the 
breaking-up  entertainment  at  the  Council 
School,  when  the  more  socially  comfortable 
Matchkeys  had  listened  to  glittering  pieces 
of  Italian  opera,  which,  to  her,  were  the 
loveliest  music  in  the  world.  They  were 
amazed  and  faint  with  adoration  as  they 
watched  those  tiny  hands  fetching  clusters 
of  colored  unnameable  dreams  from  that 
magic  thing  which  was  a  piano.  Other 
children,  too,  of  the  Poplar  district,  were 

11 


T^winkletoes 


on  that  night  as  the  shepherds  when  the 
heavenly  hosts  brought  to  them  a  message. 
"Ain't  she  a  dam  queer  kid?"  chuckled 
Dad  Minasi  to  the  elder  Matchkey.  "She's 
going  to  be  something  'fore  she  finishes,  I 
know.  T'other  day,  f'rinstance,  she  come 
running  in — I  was  shaving  meself  at  the 
time,  at  the  table,  and  nearly  cut  meself — 
I  didn't  'alf  swear — and  out  she  comes  with : 
'Dad,  I've  found  out  'ow  people  'ave  babies !' 
Think  of  it — a  kid  like  'er.  I  don't  suppose 
you  know  that — eh?"  The  Matchkey  boy 
blushed,  and  looked  awfully  surprised.  "But 
I  soon  shut  her  up.  'Well,'  I  says,  'if  you 
'ave,  you  needn't  do  a  song  and  dance  about 
it.  You  aint  the  only  one  that  knows!'  I 
says.  Just  like  that.  Soon  shut  'er  up.  But 
she's  a  fair  corker,  she  is.  All  the  time. 
She'll  be  something  'ot  when  she's  a  bit  older, 
I  give  yeh  my  word!  Only,"  he  said  impres- 
sively to  Matchkey,  who  gravely  responded 
to  the  confidence,  "what  you  want  nowadays 
is  Influence.    Influence.    Or  Money.    Can't 

12 


'Twinkletoes 


do  nothing  without  one  or  other  of  'em. 
Otherwise  yeh  don't  get  a  chance,  sonny. 
I  might  'a'  been  something  if  I'd  'ad  In- 
fluence. Or  Money.  Well,  I  can't  get  no 
influence  nowhere,  so  I've  got  to  get  money. 
Give  'er  'er  chance,  like.  See?  She'll  be 
something,  you  take  it  from  me.  Can't  tell 
yeh  what.  And  I  don't  care  much,  s 'long's 
she's  'appy.  .  .  .  Coming  along  to  tea  to- 
morrow, ain't  yeh?  Good.  You'll  'ave  to 
take  pot-luck,  y'know.  Can't  do  things  in 
much  of  a  lah-di-dah  way  in  one  room, 
y'know.  But  any  friends  of  Twinks  is  wel- 
come.   Toodle-oo,  sonny." 

Living  in  one  room  is  a  preparation  for  all 
the  highest  comforts  and  deepest  struggles 
of  life.  Only  a  genius  can  make  happiness 
from  such  rough  stuff.  And  Mum,  aided 
and  abetted  by  Twinkletoes,  created  happi- 
ness for  the  three  of  them.  They  were  happy 
in  the  heroic  makeshifts  that  were  impera- 
tive, and  in  the  gentle  content  that  grew 
up  around  them  like  the  nasturtiums  that 

13 


T^wi?2kletoes 


grew  in  the  box  on  the  window-sill  under 
Twinkletoes'  careful  hands.  The  nastur- 
tiums flourished  because  there  was  the  sun- 
shine of  Shantung  Place  to  warm  them  and 
the  water  which  Twinkletoes  carried  up  two 
flights  of  stairs  to  refresh  them.  Domestic 
happiness  flourished  likewise. 

Mum  allowed  the  company  to  make  toast 
for  Twinkletoes'  first  tea-party,  and  the 
guests  sat  round  the  fire  with  their  hostess, 
and  told  their  little  life-stories  and  their 
ambitions.  One  desired  to  be  a  bank 
manager,  because  it  was  nice,  clean  work. 
One  said  he  would  paint  pictures,  and 
the  company  yelled  derisively.  Somebody 
wanted  to  do  something  with  engines.  But 
when  Twinkletoes  was  asked  what  she  was 
going  to  be  she  replied  patly  and  firmly: 
"Going  to  be  a  dancer." 

Nobody  laughed;  for  even  the  children 
felt  that  the  fairies  had  decided  for  her.  A 
star  must  have  danced  when  she  was  born. 

They  sat  staring  into  the  fire  after  tea, 

14 


T^winkletoes 


and  as  they  stared  into  the  glowing,  hissing 
mass  (for  Twinkletoes,  with  unchallenge- 
able aplomb,  had  picked  up  and  carried  home 
some  wood  blocks  from  East  India  Dock 
Road,  where  repairs  were  proceeding) ,  they 
dreamed  their  separate  dreams.  Wonder- 
ful visions  were  given  them. 

They  saw  bright  roads  along  which  they 
should  travel.  They  saw  great  enterprises 
and  successes,  and  the  external  trappings 
that,  to  the  minds  of  Shantung  Place,  spelt 
glory.  They  all  wanted  to  get  on.  They 
wanted  to  have  houses  of  their  own  and  a 
garden.  They  wanted  clean  collars  every 
da5^  They  wanted  to  go  out  to  "late 
dinner,"  as  "gentlefolks"  in  the  West  did. 
They  wanted  to  go  to  theatres — oh,  theatres 
every  night  for  Twinkletoes — and  to  book 
their  seats  instead  of  waiting  outside  gallery 
doors,  as  they  did  once  a  year  for  the  local 
pantomime  at  the  Quayside.  The  boys  were 
going  to  have  silk  hats  and  white  waistcoats 
and  frock  coats  for  Sundays,  and  the  girls 

15 


Hwinkletoes 


were  going  to  have  all  the  silken  frillies  that 
"ladies'  children"  had;  and  if  they  got  on 
wonderfully  well  they  might  ride  in  hansom 
cabs  sometimes;  perhaps  they  could  even 
keep  a  servant. 

All  those  things  they  saw,  and  some  of  the 
company  have  attained  their  desire.  But 
they  did  not  see,  and  it  was  a  kindly  veil  that 
hid  from  them,  the  road  that  Twinkletoes 
was  to  travel. 

In  those  days  they  were  too  young  prop- 
erly to  know  her.  She  was  gracefully  old 
beyond  her  years.  Angel  and  elf  she  was, 
and  human,  too;  so  human  that  she  gave  to 
all  things  and  to  all  men  love,  after  the 
ecstatic  worship  reserved  for  Dad.  She 
never  grumbled  when  times  were  bad.  She 
laughed  when  there  was  no  coal  in  the 
scuttle;  she  chirruped  when  there  was  no 
Sunday  dinner;  and  sat  instead  on  Dad's 
knee,  and  made  him  talk  of  his  forlorn  past. 
She  forgave  all  offences,  and  brought  divine 
merriment  to  those  one-room  feastings  and 

16 


T'winkletoes 


escapades.  She  found  everything  good,  and 
her  motto  for  all  seasons  and  occasions, 
gurgled  deliciously,  with  not  very  clean 
hands  clasped  to  a  pinaf  ored  bosom,  was : 
"Ooh!  Ain't  people  and  things  Lovely T 
But  those  days  passed,  and  with  them  her 
circle  of  friends.  Parents  "got  on,"  and 
moved  from  Poplar  to  stately  suburbs,  tak- 
ing the  youngsters  and  the  secret  glory  that 
should  never  be  recaptured. 

When  Twinkletoes  was  twelve,  and  the 
JNIatchkey  circle  was  broken  into  bits  that 
scattered  themselves  along  North  and  South 
London,  Mum  died.  Dad,  in  a  now-or-never 
mood,  mysteriously  and  decisively  threw  up 
the  sign-writing  and  started  a  die-stamping 
business,  and  money  began  to  reach  the 
Minasi  household.  They  moved  from  one 
room  to  a  small  cottage.  Twinkletoes  re- 
ceived long  courses  in  music  and  dancing, 
and  at  fifteen  she  was  leader  of  a  local 
juvenile  dancing  troupe,  and  had  forgotten 
the  comrades  of  her  early  days.     She  was  a 

17 


'Twinkletoes 


woman  now,  and  had  begun  to  make  new 
friends. 

Dad  had  kept  his  word.  They  had  got 
that  piano,  and  the  room  to  put  it  in. 
Twinkletoes  had  had  her  chance,  had  taken 
it,  and,  in  a  small  way,  had  arrived. 

"Can't  think  where  she  gets  it  all  from," 
Dad  would  say,  when  discussing  her  success 
with  his  friends.  "Every  time  I  look  at 
'er  I  feel  fair  knocked  over — flabbergasted, 
like — to  think  that  I  did  it.  Or  me  and  the 
missus  between  us.  Never  thought,  that 
night,  that  I'd  get  a  kid  like  this.  Wonder 
'ow  we  did  it?  Must  'ave  gorn  upstairs 
backwards,  or  something." 


18 


II 

IN  CHINATOWN  lurks  the  Blue  Lan- 
tern, a  tavern  that  was  once  the  haunt 
of  good  and  gay  Bohemians,  but  is  now 
only  used  by  artists  and  poets  seeking 
atmosphere. 

On  a  grey  evening  between  seasons,  in  its 
grand  days.  Chuck  Lightfoot,  ex-manager 
to  Battling  Burrows,  the  Poplar  Terror, 
cuddled  the  counter  of  its  four-ale  bar  and 
discoursed  to  his  companion,  Hank  Hogan, 
on  certain  things  good  to  be  known  concern- 
ing life  and  its  mysteries.  Chuck  was 
haunted  by  a  grief,  and  was  trying  vainly  to 
drown  it.  Gin  and  coke  and  chandoo  may 
bless  many  a  bruise,  and  wipe  out  many  a 
stain  upon  the  heart  of  man,  but  there  are 
some  wounds  which  neither  material  drugs 
nor  the  balm  of  time  can  heal.  Many  beers 
cannot  quench  them;  neither  can  the  white 
stuff  drown  them.  Chuck  had  worked  over 
his  with  beer,  li-un,  whisky  and  powder;  yet 
was  it  as  lively  as  ever.  It  throbbed  and 
burned.     It  racked  him.     It  bled. 

19 


T'winkletoes 


All  Poplar  knew  of  his  grief,  and  fellows 
in  the  bar  would  nod  and  nudge  and  say: 
"Old  Chuck's  on  it  again.  Silly  devil.  'E'll 
get  what's  comin'  to  'iin,  right  enough." 

The  trouble  Avas  first  marked  when  he 
ceased  to  call  at  the  Galloping  Horses  for  a 
half-pint,  of  an  evening,  and  took  to  loung- 
ing in  the  Blue  Lantern,  swigging  pints  of 
the  Old. 

This  evening  he  put  down  six  in  as  many 
minutes;  then  smashed  his  pewter  on  the 
bar  and  called  for  more. 

"Enough  to  make  a  chap  go  on  the  bat," 
he  explained  to  Hank,  "what  I  bin  through 
the  last  month  or  two  .  .  ." 

"Ar,"  said  Hank,  a  little  fellow  with  a 
deprecating  manner  and  a  deceptive  face  of 
bovine  stupidity  crowned  with  explosive  red 
hair. 

"I  should  say  so."  And  Chuck  took  his 
tankard,  and  gulped  largely,  as  though 
swallowing  something  more  potent  and  sub- 
stantial than  the  Lantern's  Old. 

20 


T^winkletoes 


"I  bin  in  'ell,"  he  stated,  in  a  voice  that 
succeeded  in  being  anguished  without  being 
absurd.     "  'Ell.     Nothing  less." 

"Ar,"  said  Hank. 

The  lights  of  Chinatown  across  the  way 
stammered  through  the  dusk.  Songs  and 
smokes  curled  from  the  Quarter.  Strange 
kisses  and  embraces  hung  on  eveiy  breath 
of  air,  and  in  that  evening  hour  pale  arms 
seemed  to  invite  to  remote,  forbidden  beau- 
ties. Against  these  forces,  the  frankly 
lighted  electric  cars,  tearing  towards  Aid- 
gate,  joined  in  level  combat. 

Chuck  finished  his  eighth,  let  the  dregs 
slip  slackly  to  the  floor,  and  shook  a  hammer- 
like arm  at  nothing.  "Christ  almighty! 
Blast  everything." 

"Oh,  I  dunno,"  said  Hank,  between  swigs. 
"Why  everything?     Seems  to  me  .  .  ." 

"What  th'ell  d'you  know  about  it?" 

"Well,  I  thought  .  .  ." 
"Huh."     Chuck   flung    away    from    him 
and  came  swiftly  back.     He  spread  disdain- 

21 


twinkle  toes 


ful  hands.  He  tapped  Hank  on  the  chest. 
"What'd  you  say  'f  you  'eard  of  a  chap  of 
twenty-nine  in  love  with  a  girl  of  fourteen?" 

"I'd  say  same  as  everyone.  I'd  say  it  was 
all  blasted  rot.  I'd  say  'e  was  barmy.  Or 
a  dirty  beast.  Orf  'is  rocker.  Nobody  else'd 
wanter  love  a  kid." 

"Oh."  Chuck  sucked  a  Woodbine.  "That's 
what  you  think.  I  thought  it's  what  you 
would  think,"  he  said,  after  lifting  and 
setting  down  an  empty  pewter.  "Shows  'ow 
blasted  much  you  know  about  it.  Why 
can't  a  man  fall  in  love  with  a  girl  in  short 
frocks  and  still  be  all  right?  Tell  me  that, 
old  son.     Why  can't  'e  ?     Eh  ?" 

"Why,  because  'e  .  .  ."  Hank  sought 
for  explanations.  In  his  plain  mind  the 
answer  was  fairly  obvious;  yet  when  he  came 
to  make  it  he  realised  that  it  could  not  be 
made.  He  was  right,  he  knew.  But  what 
was  the  reason?  "Why,  'cos  'e  .  .  .  'cos 
she  ...  I  mean,  anyone  can  see  that  it 
ain't — that  'e  can't.     There  ain't  nothing  in 

22 


T'winkletoes 


it.  Course  'e  wouldn't,"  he  jerked,  in  the 
futile  anger  of  a  man  who  is  asked  to  prove 
conclusively  that  white  is  white. 

"Well,  yer  wrong,"  said  Chuck  huskily. 
"Am  I  barmy?" 

"Not  yet.  But  yeh  will  be  if  yeh  keep 
this  'ere  game  up  much  longer."  He  patted 
the  bar  with  a  hairy  hand,  and  his  moist  eyes 
became  moister  with  affection.  "I'm  old 
enough  to  be  yer  father.  Chuck.  Why  don't 
yeh  drink  steady,  like  me?  You  'ad  a  good 
job  what  you  lorst  through  this,  and  I  dunno 
what'll  be  the  end  of  yeh.  I've  'ad  my  time. 
This  'ere  bar's  my  waitin'-room,  like.  But 
you,  lad — fer  Christ's  sake  pull  yesself  to- 
gether." 

"No  good.  If  you'd  bin  through  what  I'm 
going  through  ..." 

"I  'ave,  old  sport,  and  I'm  still  'ere." 

"I  ain't  barmy,  and  I  ain't  a  beast.  But 
I  love  old  Minasi's  kid — like  I  dunno  what. 
For  the  last  two  years.  Never  loved  any- 
thing like  this  before.     Fifteen,  she  is  now 

23 


'T'winkletoes 


— nearly  sixteen — and  me — I'm  twenty-nine. 
And  married.  But  I'd  die  if  I  could  save 
that  kid  the  least  bit  of  pain  or — do  any- 
thing she  wanted  done,  like.  'Elp  'er  in 
any  way.     Absolutely." 

Hank  stared,  convinced  that  Chuck  was 
very  drunk,  yet  feeling  the  truth  was  coming 
out  of  the  tankard.     Chuck  caught  the  look. 

"Oh,  I  know.  I  know  it's  all — kind  o' 
wrong.  And  yet — oh,  I  know."  He  waved 
inarticulate  arms.  "Yeh  can't  tell  me  noth- 
ing about  the  pleading  business  that  I  ain't 
already  thought  of.  I  love  young  Twinkle- 
toes.  There's  an  end  of  it.  And  I  can't  eat 
or  sleep  or  do  anything.  Old  bloke — I've 
woke  up  in  the  night,  and  found  meself 
blubbing."  He  folded  his  arms,  leant  to  the 
bar,  and  examined  his  brown-booted  feet. 
"Oh,  Christ!"  he  snai)ped,  in  such  a  voice 
that  old  Diekery-Dock,  the  landlord,  looked 
across  in  some  concern. 

"I  love  'er.  'Ow  she  goes  about  the  streets 
every  day  and  everybody  don't  fall  in  love 

24 


^winkletoes 


with  'er  I  dunno.  'Ank — 'ave  you  seen  that 
little  black  frock  she  wears,  and  the  way  it 
crumples  up?  'Ave  you  seen  those  yellow 
curls  of  'ers?  And  'er  little  brown  shoes  and 
stockings?  And  the  way  she  smiles  at  yeh? 
You've  seen  'er  dance,  ain't  you,  at  the 
Quayside?  .  .  .  Gaw.  If  we  could  only  get 
away  somewhere — just  for  an  hour  or  two 
— so's  I  could  be  near  'er,  alone,  and  talk  to 
'er.  I  don't  want  to  touch  'er.  She's  too — 
kind  of  'oly.  You  ain't  ever  loved  no  one. 
Else  you'd  know.     Not  proper." 

"Oh.     Ain't  I?" 

"But  I  can't  even  take  'er  for  a  tram  ride. 
People  'd  talk.  Blast  their  dirty  minds.  .  .  . 
Oh,  of  course,  it's  all  out  o'  joint.  Nobody 'd 
understand  'ow  I  can  'ear  'er  voice  all  day 
long  through  everything,  and  'ow  every- 
where I  look  I  see  'er  face.  On  the  floor ;  on 
the  wall;  in  the  sky;  even  in  the  bottom  of 
this  bloody,  dirty  tankard.  Gimme  another, 
Dickery.  She  comes  to  the  Works  nearly 
every  day,  and  if  she  stands  near  me,  or  'er 

25 


T^winkletoes 


frock  touches  me,  I  feel,  when  she's  gorn, 
like  as  though  she'd  wrenched  me  arm  or  me 
ear  orf.    What'm  I  going  to  do?" 

"You  bett'  go  away,"  said  Hank,  in  the 
level  tones  of  one  perfunctorily  offering  ad- 
vice, which  he  knows  will  not  be  accepted. 
"Betf  go  away.  Knock  orf  this  jag  game, 
and  git  orf  to  the  Forest,  and  go  in  training 
for  a  bit.  Out  at  Chingford  or  Lambourn 
End.  Get  the  Duke  to  go  wi'  yeh,  and  do 
some  stiff  work  on  the  ball." 

"Huh.  If  this  is  love,  Gawd  'elp  anyone 
in  love.  I  'ang  round  'er  'ouse  sometimes, 
though  it  'urts  like  'ell.  .  .  .  Oh,  what's 
it  bin  and  'appened  to  me  for?  Why  me? 
.  .  .  Drink  up  and 'ave  another.     Dickery!" 

"Yer  in  a  rotten  state,"  said  Hank;  "but 
there  y'are — that's  always  the  way."  He 
drank  up  and  had  another,  and  as  his  little 
eyes  hovered  over  the  rim  of  his  mug  he 
remarked:  "Ar.  Talk  of  the  devil.  There 
goes  the  kid  over  t'other  side.  Just  caught 
'er  out  the  corner  o'  me  eye." 

26 


^winkletoes 


Chuck  shot  his  drink  to  the  counter,  tip- 
toed, and  peered  over  the  ground-glass 
portion  of  the  Lantern's  window.  Sailing 
towards  Chinatown  was  a  child  as  lovelv  and 
as  insolently  hajjpy  as  a  lyric.  Torrents  of 
bright  curls  foamed  about  her  shoulders,  and 
the  black  silk  frock  clung  to  her  young 
beauty  as  though  it  loved  her.  The  mirror- 
like candour  of  her  face,  undimmed  by  any 
breath  of  the  world's  abominations,  reflected 
nothing  but  the  serene  joy  of  the  moment. 
Remote  seemed  her  glory  from  that  mephitic 
chaos.  Timid  as  a  wraith  that  may  melt  at 
a  touch,  she  seemed  too  fragile  even  for 
childhood;  and  the  mind  shrank  from  the 
thought  that  the  deflowering  hand  of  man 
should  rest  upon  this  phantom  of  a  dream. 

As  Chuck  watched  her  the  light  of  love- 
madness  was  in  his  eyes,  and  a  tense  pain 
was  about  his  lips.  He  made  noises  when  he 
noted  the  glances  which  the  Asiatics  turned 
upon  this  filigree  toy,  and  the  innocently 
flirtatious  smiles  with  which  she  responded. 

27 


T^winkletoes 


More  tender  of  soul  than  most  men,  he  dared 
not  dream  of  possessing  her;  of  lacing  arms 
about  her;  of  pressing  lip  to  lip;  though 
every  fibre  of  his  being  ached  for  her. 

His  eyes  fell  upon  the  soft  fruit  of  her 
face.  He  strained  his  ears  to  catch  the  sound 
of  her  crystal  voice,  and  when  he  heard  her 
cry,  "Suffering  Jesus!"  as  she  narrowly  es- 
caped falling  over  a  cat,  he  longed  to  answer 
it.  When  she  disappeared  into  the  Cause- 
way his  hands  dropped;  he  turned  away  his 
head,  snatched  angrily  at  his  mug  and  drank 
and  drank. 

"  'Ere,  'alf  a  mo,"  said  Hank  suddenly, 
when  a  double  gin  followed  the  last  tankard. 
"Put  the  brake  on,  lad.  I  ain't  a-arguing 
with  yeh;  I'm  a-telling  of  yeh!" 

Chuck  spluttered  wild  oaths.  The  phj'^si- 
cal  nausea  that  accompanies  great  grief  had 
gripped  him.  His  fingers  clutched  nothing. 
The  reek  of  the  sawdust  bar  swam  about 
his  nose.  The  lights  swam  about  his  eyes 
in  conflict  with  the  half-gloom  of  the  streets. 

28 


T'winkletoes 


He  stared  solemnly  at  Hank,  and  noted, 
without  wonder,  that  Hank  was  leaping 
grotesquely  from  floor  to  ceiling. 

"Why  can't  yeh  keep  still?"  he  shouted. 
Dickery  Dock  came  forward. 

"Push  'im  'ome,  'Ank,"  he  said  consider- 
ately.    "  'E's  got  a  skate  on." 

"That's  me.  Alwis  comes  on  me,  don't 
it?  Reckon  I  seen  every  one  of  the  boys 
'ome  one  time  or  another.     Eh?" 

"I  dessay.  Wonderful  what  you  could 
give  away,  'f  yeh  started  talking,  'Ank. 
Winter  sports — seeing  the  Lantern  boys 
'ome."  He  made  a  snort  which  served  for 
a  chuckle.  "Ought  to  write  in  the  papers, 
'Ank.  Remensensees  of  the  Blue  Lantern. 
By  'Ank."  He  exploded.  "Shove  on, 
sporty.  Get  'im  away.  'Ere — 'ave  one  on 
me — a  quick  one." 

Hank  set  Chuck  on  a  wooden  bench,  swal- 
lowed the  quick  one,  looped  an  arm  in  the 
lad's  and  dragged  him  through  the  swing- 
ing door. 

29 


^winkletoes 


The  swift  air  from  the  river  smote  Chuck's 
damp  face.  "I'm  awri'.  I'll  go  'long  'ome, 
now.  Don'  you  bother."  He  braced  him- 
self, and  set  his  feet  widely  apart.  The 
Lascars,  parading  the  streets  with  their 
customary,  pathetic  /air  of  being  lost,  glanced 
curiously  at  him.  He  threw  Hank's  arm 
away.  "Christawmighty,"  he  sobbed. 
"When's  it  going  to  end?" 

Hank  turned  about  with  a  platitude  on  his 
lips.     But  Chuck  was  gone. 

Mrs.  Lightfoot,  to  whose  quick  ears  these 
things  had  come,  had  passed  her  thirtieth 
year,  and,  like  all  women  of  the  district,  at 
that  age  was  old  and  haggard.  She  was  a 
large,  blonde  woman,  thin  lipped.  She  had 
long  arms,  with  cruel,  cold  hands,  and  honey- 
colored  hair.  Neglected  by  the  well-knit 
Chuck,  she  began  to  be  angry  before  she  was 
sorrowful.  She  shut  herself  up  at  home  in 
bed  with  halfpenny  novelettes  and  strong 
tea,  and  ruminated,  while  Chuck  she  knew 

30 


^winkletoes 


was  going  his  evil  ways  and  assuaging  the 
eternal  grief  of  things  at  the  Blue  Lantern. 
Once  a  sweet  and  mild  fellow,  as  so  many 
l^ugilists  are,  he  had  become,  under  his 
sorrow,  vindictive ;  and  Cissie  knew  it. 

It  was  Cissie  who  leaned  from  the  window 
of  their  cottage  and  witnessed  his  blasphe- 
mous search  for  his  home. 

"Blast  'im.  Boozing  up  over  that  kid, 
I  s'pose.  Curse  the  filthy  little  wretch. 
Damn  silly  to  be  jealous  of  a  kid,  but  .  .  . 
Oh,  I'll  fix  her  some  time.     I'll  fix  her." 

She  heard  his  fumbling  feet  on  the  stair. 
Then  his  face,  now  gone  flaccid,  popped 
round  the  doorway. 

"Well,  boozey?  Seen  yer  baby  sweet- 
heart?" she  cried  cruelly. 

"Levant — ^j^ou.  Find  a  street  and  take  a 
walk." 

"Pitty  ickle  sing,"  she  sang.  "Rock-a- 
bye-baby — on  the  ..." 

"  'Nough  o'  that.     Else  I'll  mark  yeh." 

"You  do,  me  lad.     It  won't  pay  yeh." 

31 


Twinkletoes 


"Cut  it.  Ain't  I  'ad  enough  'ell,  trying 
to  keep  straight  through  this  business  'cos 
o'  you,  without  'aving  to  put  up  with  your 
cackle  ?  Stifle  it.  Else  lay  an  egg  an'  done 
with  it."  He  stood  over  her,  grotesquely 
furious. 

"  'Ow  d'you  talk  to  yer  baby?  Wassums 
darly-warly  going  bye-bye  all  aloney?  I 
s'pose  you'd  like  to  go  .  .  ." 

Chuck  lurched  from  the  wall,  grabbed  a 
glass  from  the  table  and  flung  it.  It  struck 
Cissie  on  the  mouth.  Blood  appeared  on  her 
lips.  She  stood  up,  swaying  in  the  crowding 
glooms.  She  laughed  in  spasms,  without 
mirth.  Chuck  moved  towards  her,  his  face 
brutalised,  his  body  tense.  She  laughed 
again. 

"Don't  like  my  cackle,  don't  yeh?  Rather 
I  laid  an  egg?  You  look  out,  me  lad."  Her 
voice  cracked.  Nose  and  chin  were  joined 
by  uncomely  lines.  Her  hair  tumbled. 
"Else  I  may  lay  an  egg,""  she  screamed, 
"that'll  make  you  look  silly!" 

32 


I^winkletoes 


He  lurched  nearer,  but  she  seized  the 
poker  with  swift  hands  and  poised  it. 

For  a  few  minutes  they  waited  watchfully. 
Then  Chuck  made  ungainly  movements,  and 
found  the  door.  "What  a  life!  Gawd, 
what  a  life!"  He  slithered  across  the  passage 
to  his  room.  Cissie  helped  herself  to  beer, 
noisily,  from  a  jug. 


33 


Ill 

TWINKLETOES,  the  pocket  Venus, 
the  little  comrade  of  all  Poplar, 
flitted,  in  a  cloud  of  lace  and  yellow 
hair,  from  West  India  Dock  Road  to  Penny- 
fields.  Her  clothes  had  that  touch  of  dis- 
orderly smartness  which  belongs  to  the 
clothes  of  stage  children.  So  lightly  did  she 
move  that  her  feet  seemed  to  kiss  the  pave- 
ments, those  pavements  she  had  loved  ever 
since  she  had  walked. 

The  evening  noise  of  Chinatown  was  on  the 
air ;  its  acrid  tang  bit  nose  and  lips.  A  goods 
train  from  the  Docks  crawled  wearily  across 
the  Arches.  From  the  river  came  a  voice 
giving  an  indecent  chantey  to  a  rush  of 
chains  and  pulley-ropes.  Sirens  screamed. 
In  a  seamen's  home  faint  fingers  plucked  a 
melancholy  guitar.  The  brightest  and  best 
of  the  monkeys  of  the  evening  paraded  the 
solemn  road,  brushing  shoulders  with  cat- 
like Hindoos,  jungle-footed  Dyaks,  and  non- 
descript vagabonds  from  the  Pacific  wastes. 

34 


liwinkletoes 


The  black  men  looked  at  none  of  the  women ; 
they  scanned  appreciatively  every  lovely 
child  whose  white-socked  legs  flittered 
through  the  blue  twilight. 

By  day  or  by  dark  these  streets  are 
scarcely  such  as  one  would  build  one's  dreams 
upon.  By  day,  the  impudent  sunshine  falls 
upon  them,  stripping  them  of  their  secrets. 
By  night,  grey  shadows  crowd  fearfully  upon 
one  another.  Cold,  lean  streets  turn  sharply 
away,  slinking,  with  malicious  eagerness,  to 
nowhere.  There  are  long,  faltering  streets ; 
brisk,  bold  streets;  mischievous  passages 
and  labyrinthine  burrows.  There  are  high 
blocks  of  houses,  apparently  inaccessible, 
showing  humane  windows  across  the  roofs  of 
others. 

But  to  Twinkletoes  all  was  beautiful. 
Only  once  was  she  jarred,  when,  as  she  darted 
through  the  alleys,  there  came  off  the  evening 
breeze  a  child's  scream,  a  wail  of  entreaty, 
and  anomalous  noises. 

"Suffering  Jesus!"  she  snapped.     "Old 

35 


T^winkletoes 


Mother  Adnitt  torturing  that  kid  again.  She 
wants  pins  stuck  in  'er." 

She  had  a  low  flash-point  of  temper;  was 
explosively  good-natured,  explosively  com- 
bative; and  cruelty  made  her  sick.  It 
seemed  to  her  so  silly  that  people  should  dis- 
turb a  beautiful  world,  twisting  into  wicked 
shapes  the  mind  that  God  made  so  fairly. 
She  knew  how  beautiful  it  could  be,  and  she 
lived  to  make  it  more  beautiful  still.  She 
danced  what  she  saw,  and  when  she  saw 
cruelty  she  danced  that,  so  that  other  people 
might  feel  as  sick  as  she  did,  and,  she  hoped, 
stop  it.  People  and  things  were  lovely,  and 
Poplar  was  lovely,  and  she  hated  Mrs.  Adnitt 
for  spoiling  perfection. 

Turning  into  a  passage  leading  from 
^Mandarin  Court,  she  disapjieared  through  a 
furtive  doorway.  She  was  in  the  Works, 
the  old  Dad's  Works,  the  die-stamping  busi- 
ness, and  her  troubles  slipped  from  her.  Not 
once  in  four  years  had  she  missed  her  daily 
visit  to  this  little  corner  of  delight.  Strangers 

36 


^winkletoes 


would  have  found  it  dull  and  squalid  and 
odorous;  but  there  were  half-a-dozen  people 
in  Poplar  to  whom  it  was  a  centre  of  vibrant 
interest.  Twinkletoes  loved  it  because  it 
was  Dad's;  she  had  a  proprietary  as  well  as 
romantic  attachment  to  it.  Everything  con- 
nected with  Dad  was  beautiful.  When  she 
thought  of  him  she  thought  of  all  that  was 
brave  and  sweet  and  strong:  of  Handel's 
Largo,  or  Beethoven's  Fifth  Symphony,  or 
Schubert's  Songs,  for,  as  it  was  through 
music  that  she  expressed  herself,  it  was  only 
to  music  that  she  could  turn  for  illustration 
of  her  emotions.  Dad  had  started  these 
Works,  and  it  was  the  Works  that  had  pro- 
vided the  means  of  her  education  in  music 
and  dancing. 

The  interest  of  others  had  a  different  basis. 
JNIen  would  call  there  during  the  day  and 
evening;  some  splendidly  dressed,  with  just 
that  over-attention  to  detail  that  marked 
them  from  what  they  desired  to  be;  others, 
unclean,  in  tatters  and  slops.     All  entered 

37 


T^winkletoes 


casually,  with  an  air  of  "dropping  in,"  to 
pass  the  time  of  day,  though,  by  tactful 
stages,  they  descended  with  Dad  to  the  base- 
ment, and  remained  sometimes  half-an-hour, 
sometimes  two  and  three  hours. 

Dad  would  receive  them  with  his  usual 
chuckle  and  "Wow-wow,  me  old  Cocka- 
lorum," and  would  speed  them  on  their  way 
with  gushes  of  laughter  and  timely  persi- 
flages. But  there  were  intervals,  in  the 
basement,  of  lively  seriousness. 

When  Twinkletoes  entered  he  was  climb- 
ing the  ladder  stair  from  below.  He  wore 
trousers  and  shirt,  with  sleeves  rolled  up. 
His  hands  were  stained  with  acid,  his  ex- 
pression ruminative.  But  at  the  sight  of 
Twinkletoes  his  face  split  to  a  joyous  grin. 

"Cheerio!"  she  cried.  "Blast  these  old 
apples-and-pears  of  yours — I  nearly  slipped. 
Why  don't  yeh  get  'em  mended?  Well, 
how's  the  old  pot-and-pan?" 

"I'm  all  right,"  he  answered.  "How's 
the  Gawd-forbid?" 

38 


^winkletoes 


"Oh,  I'm  the  Big  Noise.  Same  as  usual. 
No  complaints.  I'm  the  live  wire,  I  am. 
Danger  on  the  line  for  anyone  who  touches 
me  without  rubber  gloves.     How's  biz?" 

"Coming  in  good  and  plenty.  'Ad  yer 
tea?" 

"You  bet.  And  a  drop  o'  Lincoln's  Inn 
with  it." 

"Marv'lous  kid,  ain't  you,"  he  chuckled, 
rumpling  her  cloak  of  curls. 

"Well,  Roseleaf  said  I  was  slack  last  night 
in  the  Autumn  dance.  So  I  thought  I'd 
have  a  snifter  to  put  me  on  song  and  get  the 
juice  running  properly.  .  .  .  Well,  boys, 
how  is  it?" 

The  two  assistants  made  non-committal 
noises. 

"Shall  I  cook  for  you?  Or  ain't  you 
through  3'et?" 

"Oh,  we're  through.     Go  ahead,  Twinks." 

"Fair  leading  'em  on,  that's  what  you  are, 
Twinks,"  said  Dad.  "Hiking  'em  down  the 
broad  and  gay  white  road.     Look  at  'em 

39 


Il' winkle  toes 


— look  at  young  Perce  there — fair  wasting 
away.  Look  at  me — I  don't  dope,  and  I 
could  lift  'em  both  with  one  hand." 

"Chuck  it,  Dad,"  said  Twinkletoes.  "If 
it  amuses  'em,  let  'em  'ave  it.  We  were  sent 
here  to  be  happy,  and  if  it  makes  'em  happy 
they've  a  right  to  it,  so  long's  it  don't  hurt 
no  one  else." 

Old  Dad  Minasi  was  a  man  of  simple 
tastes.  He  liked  beer  better  than  wine.  He 
preferred  Red  Seal  to  Grand  Marnier.  He 
chose  to  live  in  Poplar  rather  than  Stamford 
Hill.  He  liked  shag  better  than  a  Cabanas ; 
beef  and  mutton  better  than  bird ;  and  bread 
and  cheese  better  than  either;  and  when  he 
took  Twinkletoes  for  a  ride  on  the  tram  to- 
wards the  Forest  he  was  as  near  heaven  as 
he  desired  to  be.  With  simple  food  and 
drink  and  her  society,  life  was,  for  him,  a  bit 
of  all  right.  And  he  would  chortle  mirth- 
fully every  hour :  "Gawd  is  love !  Hearts  are 
trumps!" 

He  couldn't  understand  the  dope  trick, 

40 


T^winkletoes 


and  he  watched  with  amusement  as  Twinkle- 
toes  danced  to  a  cupboard  and  produced  a 
lay  out,  a  lamp,  a  toey  filled  with  hop,  two 
pipes,  a  yen-shi-gow,  and  a  yen-hok.  She 
lit  the  lamp  and  roasted  the  stuff,  delicately 
working  it  until  it  reached  the  right  con- 
sistency. Then  she  fixed  it  to  the  pipes  and 
handed  one  to  each  boy.  "There  y'are. 
Good  'unting,  old  boys."  The  overwhelming 
sweetness  of  the  discharged  gases  made  old 
Dad  sniff  scornfully,  but  the  boys  lapped  it 
luxuriously.  They  lay  on  the  floor,  their 
coats  serving  as  pillows,  and  followed  the 
amiable  meditations  upon  the  flesh  which  the 
hop  invoked. 

As  they  lay  there,  the  younger  of  the  two, 
called  Perce,  his  face  alreadj'-  assuming  a 
parchment  surface  after  three  years  of  the 
pipe,  watched  Twinkletoes  as  she  fluttered 
about  the  workshop).  His  eyelids  drooped. 
His  eyes  became  as  the  bright  blue  beads  of 
the  lamps:  pin-points  of  phosphorescence. 
His  fingers  curled  at  the  bamboo  stem  of  his 

41 


T'winkletoes 


pipe.  He  absorbed  the  lyrical  flow  of  her 
upright  figure,  and  the  chiming  colors  of  her 
dress,  and  the  swift  play  of  her  apple-blossom 
arms.  The  meaning  behind  his  gaze  could 
no  more  be  interpreted  than  the  thought 
behind  a  cat's  eyes. 

Just  then  the  latch  lifted.  Dad  darted 
round  with  a  movement  of  apprehension  that 
would  have  puzzled  Twinkletoes  had  she  seen 
it.  Chuck  Lightfoot  walked  in.  As  he 
entered  he  caught  the  smoker's  fixed  stare. 
He  said  nothing,  but  his  nose  twitched. 

"Got  the  boodle?"  Dad  asked. 

Chuck  grunted.  "A  few.  I  planted  a 
lot  more  up  West.  Met  Wallopy  and  Pim. 
lico  Pete.  Pete  took  some,  and  Wallopy 
wangled  the  big  'uns.  They  got  away  with 
it  all  right." 

"Good  biz.  That'll  be  greens  for  dinner. 
'Ave  a  cup  of  you-and-me?  I'm  hashing 
some  up  here." 

"Righto." 

"This  new  lot's  the  goods,  ain't  it?"    Dad 

42 


'Twinkle  toes 


went  on,  as  he  fussed  round  a  kettle  on  a 
gas-ring.     "Got  'em  where  we  want  'em." 

"Yerss.  I  don't  think  they'll  ramp  us 
on  this  lot." 

Twinkletoes  paid  no  attention  to  the  tech- 
nical conversation,  but  when  it  v/as  ended  she 
swung  round. 

"  'Ullo,  Chuck.    Where  you  going  to  sit?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  care.  On  the  bench,  if  you 
like."  He  sprang  up  to  the  bench,  and 
Twinkletoes  clambered  up  beside  him,  where 
they  faced  the  pipe  men,  who  now  lay  with 
closed  eyes  breathing  like  a  farmyard. 
Twinks  lit  a  cigarette  and  puffed  it  ecstati- 
cally. Chuck's  face  was  downcast;  the 
presence  of  Twinkletoes,  and  her  kindly 
comradeship,  flicked  him  on  the  raw.  He 
was  suffering  his  daily  hell. 

Innocent  of  his  agony,  Twinkletoes 
chipped  him.  The  genius  of  mischief  bubbled 
in  her  blood  and  boiled  over  in  glances  and 
movements.  "Brace  up,  old  son!  Why 
the  glumness?     Why  the  bad  looks?     Why 

43 


T^winkletoes 


the  hell  the  sad  step?  Cough  up  to  your 
T winks  the  whenceness  of  it  all?  Lost  your 
money  and  found  a  last  year's  sweep-ticket — 
what?" 

Chuck  grunted. 

"Never  mind,  old  son.  Life's  a  game.  It's 
an  adventure,  and  it's  worth  having  whether 
it's  gay  or  sad.  Ain't  it,  now?  You  look 
as  cheerful  as  a  wet  funeral  on  early  closing 
day.  I  ain't  feeling  too  good  to-night,  but 
I  ain't  sucking  lemons  about  it.  I  was  com- 
ing along  Mandarin,  and  that  blasted  old 
Adnitt  woman  was  torturing  that  kiddie 
again.  I  wish  I  was  strong.  I'd  put  her 
through  it.  What'd  you  do.  Chuck,  if  you 
see  anyone  beating  a  kid?" 

"Eh?"  Chuck  looked  up  sharply.  His 
glance  swerved  to  the  slumbering  Perce. 
"Why,  I  reckon  I'd — I'd  break  their  blasted 
face  in." 

Twinkletoes  looked  raptly  at  him.  Her 
fury  against  the  suffering  of  the  helpless, 
with  admiration  for  this  champion  of  the 

44 


^winkletoes 


helpless,  blazed  in  her  eyes,  "Yes,  and  you 
could  do  it,  too,  couldn't  you,  Chuck?  I 
see  you  fight  once — round  at  Battling's 
ring." 

"If  I  see  anyone  'urting  a  child,"  said 
Chuck  slowly,  "no  one  wouldn't  need  to  show 
me  what  to  do."  He  looked  at  Twinkletoes. 
"If  there's  one  thing  that  gets  my  goat 
it's " 

The  latch  clicked.  Hank  Hogan  walked 
in,  his  slippery  air  and  slippery  clothes  giv- 
ing him  the  manner  of  a  disgraced  eel.  Dad, 
who  was  noisily  swigging  tea  in  the  corner, 
looked  up. 

"Like  to  see  you  for  a  minute — private- 
like," said  Hank. 

"All  right,  old  son.     Down  yeh  go." 

They  descended  to  the  basement.  This 
was  a  small  cellar,  lit  by  three  green-shaded 
lamps.  Wisps  of  crinkled  paper  lay  about 
the  floor  and  on  the  bench.  There  were 
test-tubes  and  a  retort  and  many  small 
bottles. 

45 


T^winkletoes 


Plank  chewed  a  piece  of  plug  reflectively. 

"Just  seen  the  Pearly  Prince,"  he  re- 
marked. 

"So?" 

"Um."  He  continued  chewing  for  a 
minute.  "Got  something  big  on  just  now. 
On'y  he  ain't  got  the  right  things." 

"So?" 

"Um.  There's  a  good  thing  for  the  chap 
who  can  get  'em  for  'im." 

"There  ought  to  be." 

"Oh,  Pearly  alwis  does  things  proper. 
He's  got  the  specifications  and  all  that;  but 
he  can't  put  'is  'and  on  the  right  chap.  Chap 
who's  got  the  plant  and  who  can  keep  quiet.'* 

"Yerss,"  said  Dad  slowly.  "It  ain't  so 
easy." 

"Well,"  snapped  Hank  decisively.  "Got 
me?" 

Dad  looked  squarely  at  him  with  a  blank 
expression.     "Nothing  doing." 

"What!     Mean  t'  say  you  ain't  on?" 

"Just  that." 

46 


'twinkle  toes 


"Well,  of  all  the  blasted D'you  re'lize 

what's  in  it?  Pearly '11  go  two  'underd  for 
the  right  things.     And  you  can  do  'em  as 

easy "     He  swept  a  tired,  ragged  arm 

round  the  cellar.     "Why,  it's  like  falling 

orf  a  log.    With  this  lay-out  you  could 

'Ere,  you  gorn  barmy?" 

"Nit." 

"Well,  ain't  a  couple  of  'underd  enough 
for  yeh?  There  ain't  no  risk.  You  know 
Pearly.     Pearly's  straight." 

"That's  so.  Pearly's  all  right.  I  ain't 
saying  nothing  'bout  Pearly.  But  this  ain't 
my  lay." 

"Oh?  What's  got  yeh?  Got  bugs— or 
what?" 

"No.     Only "    He  looked  round,  bent 

towards  Hank,  and  lowered  his  voice.  "I 
ain't  saying  two  'underd  won't  be  useful. 
But  I  can't  make  it  in  that  way." 

"Oh.     Blasted  partic'ler,  ain't  yeh?" 

"  'Ank,  y'know  my  Twinkletoes  ?" 

"Um.     What  about  'er?" 

47 


l^winkletoes 


"Well  .  .  .  you  know  ...  if  you  'ad  a 
kid  like  that,  would  you  like  to  run  risks 
to  do  anything — know  what  I  mean,  any- 
thing dirty-like. 

"Teeth  and  testimonials!  What  you  bin 
doing  these  last  four  years?" 

"  'At's  different.  I  'ad  to.  To  give  'er 
'er  chance.  Don't  think  I've  enjoyed  it, 
'Ank.  Don't  think  I  ain't  gone  through  a 
good  bit  of  'ell  over  it.  Wondering  if  she'd 
ever  find  out.  You  know  what  she  is — 
straight  as  they  make  'em.  Clean  as  if  she'd 
come  from  'eaven.  An'  it's  alwis  bin  my 
line  to  live  up  to  'er.  But  I  'ad  to  give  'er 
'er  chance.  And  this  was  the  only  way. 
Well,  she's  'ad  'er  chance,  and  she's  made 
good;  and  I'm  pretty  near  ready  to  quit. 
I  'ad  to  make  just  that  bit  o'  money  some'ow, 
and  I  made  it.  She's  earning  three  quid  a 
week  now  with  the  Quayside  Kids,  and  I 
ain't  got  no  need  to  make  no  more  money 
this  way.  We're  comfortable  and  'appy, 
and  what'd  'appen  if  she  knew,  Christ  only 

48 


l^winkletoes 


knows.  It  don't  bear  thinking  about.  You'd 
understand  that,  'Ank,if  she  was  your  kid.  If 
you  lived  with  'er  you'd  *ave  to  live  straight 
and  clean.  You  couldn't  do  no  other  way. 
She's  like  that.  I  can't  explain.  It's  just 
there;  she  has  that  effeck  on  yeh.  Now 
I've  started  'er,  I'm  going  to  quit.  The  die- 
stamping  business  is  moseying  along  all 
right,  and  wiv  what  she  earns  we're  quite 
comfy. 

"So  that's  that.  I'm  going  to  quit.  Tell 
Pearly.  'E's  a  good  chap,  but  I  can't  touch 
it.  Straight,  I  can't.  If  I  make  money  now 
I'm  going  to  make  it  clean.     See?" 

"Ar.  I  dessay  you're  right.  She's  a 
great  kid,  your  Twinks.  But  a  couple  of 
'underd's  a  couple  of  'underd — alwis  will 
be.  There  ain't  no  risk.  It  could  be  just 
a  last  flutter,  and  it'd  be  nice  to  'ave  a 
little  egg  to  put  in  the  straight  business, 
eh?" 

"Nothing  doing.  Hank." 

"Oh,    awright.     Don't   let   me   shove   it 

49 


^winkletoes 


dahn  yer  throat.  I  only  put  it  your  way, 
friendly-like,  'cos  I  thought  you  might  be 
glad  of  a  bit  and  'cos  I  knew  that  the 
Prince'd  trust  you  where  he  wouldn't  no  one 
else.  But  there  y'are.  That's  alwis  the 
way.     Do  a  pal  a  turn— 


5> 


"That's  all  right,  'Ank.  I  know.  I  ain't 
sniffing  at  you.  You're  all  right.  But  I 
just  can't  touch  it,  'Ank.  I've  made  the  bit 
I  'ad  to  make,  and  there  we  are.  Under- 
stand, don't  yeh?  There  ain't  no  ill  feeling 
about  it.  I  'preciate  your  bringing  it  to  me 
— reely,  I  do." 

"Awright.  I  s'pose  you  know  yer  own 
mind.  I'll  be  shoving  along.  The  Prince 
won't  'alf  be  sick,  though." 

"Oh,  you  can  fix  it  somewhere  else.  Some 
of  the  Stepney  boys'U  take  it  on.  Well, 
so  long,  'Ank." 

"So  long." 

They  climbed  the  ladder  to  the  main 
workshop. 

As  Dad's  head  appeared  on  the  floor  level, 

50 


Twinkletoes 


there  came  a  sharp  scream  in  Twinkletoes' 
voice. 

Pushing  open  the  door,  he  saw  her  on  the 
steps  leading  to  the  street.  Reaching  from 
his  pillow  on  the  floor,  Perce  the  smoker  had 
grabbed  her  ankle.  She  tmnbled  from  the 
top  step  and  fell  upon  him  in  a  storm  of 
skirts  and  curls.  Dad  saw  two  bright  brown 
boots  flash  across  the  shop.  One  of  these 
was  lifted  and  came  full  on  Perce's  face. 
He  howled  and  slackened  his  grip.  Chuck, 
the  owner  of  the  brown  boots,  lifted  Twinkle- 
toes  with  reverent  hands,  and  drew  her  aside. 

"I'm  all  right,"  she  gasped.  "Don't 
bother,  Chuck.  He's  a  bit  dopey,  I  reckon. 
I  ain't  funked  of  'im  any  end  up.  Got  bugs. 
He  didn't  mean  it." 

Dad  leapt  up  the  ladder,  and  Hank  fol- 
lowed him.  He  glared  upon  the  dithering, 
whining  Perce.  The  tenderness  and  the 
jollity  were  gone  from  him.  Something  had 
happened  to  his  Twinkletoes.  But  his  mien 
was  mild  against  that  of  Chuck,  who  stood 

51 


T'winkletoes 


over  the  culprit.  A  terrible  white  fire  burned 
in  his  face,  as  austerely  passionate  as  that 
which  might  have  transformed  the  Man 
who  drove  sacrilegious  intruders  from  the 
Temple. 

He  turned  to  Twinkletoes,  who  stood 
airily  aloof.  "Better  run  along,  else  yeh'U 
be  late." 

"Righto.  Don't  bother  about  it.  It 
wasn't  anything.  I'm  just  off,  Dad.  See 
you  after  the  show." 

She  ran  to  Dad  and  kissed  him,  and  flitted 
through  the  door. 

The  men  remained  in  awkward  silence  for 
a  few  moments. 

"Weil,  I'll  be  off,"  said  Hank.  The  at- 
mosphere seemed  constrained.  He  hated 
scenes,  and  he  was  afraid  a  scene  was  coming. 
"I'll  be  in  the  Lantern  'fyou  want  me — if 
you  change  yer  mind,  old  cock." 

"Righto." 

When  he  had  gone.  Dad  walked  over  to 
the    sprawling    Perce,    and    kicked    him. 

52 


T^winkletoes 


"Ought  to  be  blasted  well  ashamed  of  yesself, 
you  ought,"  he  said.  "You — putting  yer 
nasty  dirty  mawlers  on  my  kiddie.  If  you 
want  to  play  games  like  that,  find  another 
shop.  See?"  His  anger  was  inflamed  by 
his  own  words.  "You  touch  a — a  youngster 
like  that — you,  yeh  dirty  little  hop-toad. 
Bung  off.  See?  Bung  off.  Quick,  too, 
else  me  and  you'll  'ave  a  row.  Won't  we, 
Chuck?" 

But  Chuck  said  nothing.  He  stared 
cataleptically. 

The  other  smoker,  who  had  been  an  in- 
dolent witness  of  the  affair,  rose,  put  on  his 
coat,  and  searched  for  his  hat. 

"Nothing  more,  guv 'nor?" 

"No,  nothing  more.  D'you  see  what  young 
Perce  was  up  to?" 

"Sure.  But  then,  he  never  could  take  his 
hop  without  going  buggy.  If  a  chap  can't 
take  his  dose  prop'ly  he  ought  to  drop  it. 
Night." 

Perce,  too,  found  his  feet  and  fumbled 

53 


T'winkletoes 


with  his  coat,  while  Dad  glowered  upon  him. 
He  slithered  up  the  steps,  and  out,  as  one 
conscious  of  wrong-doing,  unwilling  to  admit 
it,  too  afraid  to  utter  defiance. 

Chuck  watched  him  go.  He  stretched  his 
arms  widely,  in  apparent  weariness. 

"Well,  I'll  be  toddling.  See  you  in  the 
Lantern,  guv'nor." 

"Toodle-oo,  lad." 

In  the  street.  Chuck  looked  swiftly  to 
right  and  left.  Then  he  ran  towards  Man- 
darin Court.  Perce  was  slinking  round  the 
corner.  Chuck's  hand  fell  like  a  bar  of  finely 
tempered  steel  on  his  shoulder. 

He  jumped  idiotically;  wriggled;  then 
wailed. 

"Leggo!     Leggo!" 

"I  want  you."  He  dragged  him  into  the 
court.     "Put  'em  up." 

"Eh?" 

"Put  'em  up." 

"Whaffor?" 

"You  know  what  for." 

54 


cr. 


T'winkletoes 


"Grr  yell!     Lemme  go!" 

"Going  to  put  'em  up?" 

"Grr!  Bloody  plucky,  ain't  yeh?  I 
know  your  sort.  Alwis  wanter  fight  wiv 
fellers  Vvho  don't  train,  just  'cos  you're  a  pro. 
Wanter  fight  me  'cos  yeh  know  I  can't  fight, 
and  it's  a  sorf  thing  for  yeh.  Why  don't 
yer  fight  the  pros.,  eh?" 

"Shut  up.     I'll  fight  you  any  way  yeh  like 

— feet,  if  yeh  like.    But  I'm  going  to  learn 

yeh.     See?    I'll  learn  yeh  to  put  yer  hands 

on — on  'er.     I'll  learn  yeh.     Going  to  put 

em  up  5 

Perce  writhed,  hesitated.  Then  shot  a 
swift  boot  at  Chuck's  shins.  With  the  sick- 
ness of  the  blow  Chuck  went  down.  For  a 
moment  only,  though;  then  the  face  of 
Twinkletoes  came  before  him,  and  he  saw 
again  the  soiling  hand  of  Perce  about  her 
holy  person.  In  one  movement  he  came 
from  the  ground  and  carried  his  left  to 
Perce's  nose.  He  did  not  hit  hard,  or  Perce 
would  have  been  out;   indeed,   he  had  to 

55 


T^winkletoes 


maneuver  to  avoid  landing  on  the  point.  He 
had  no  wish  to  use  his  skill  or  extend  himself. 
He  wanted  to  learn  him. 

"  'Ave  that  to  go  on  with,  Perce,"  he 
snapped.  "That'll  learn  j^eh  t'interfere  with 
kids.     Ain't  yeh  sorry  yeh  touched  'er — eh?" 

Perce  answered  nothing.  He  ducked  his 
head  and  made  a  dive  to  butt  Chuck  amid- 
ships. Chuck  side-stepped  and  rattled  his 
head  with  half -arm  jabs,  one-two,  one-two. 
Perce  went  down,  and  lay  kicking. 

"Get  up!" 

"Sha'n't!" 

Chuck  grabbed  his  collar,  pulled  him  to  his 
feet,  and  beetled  upon  him.  Then  he  worked 
the  ding-dong  on  him  with  open  palms, 
until  the  houses  swam  and  the  stars  curveted 
in  the  sky.  Perce  staggered  to  the  wall, 
and  stood  hunched  up,  mouthing  fearful 
oaths  about  Chuck  and  Twinkletoes.  Chuck 
listened  attentively,  then  sent  three  smart 
ones  to  the  dirty  mouth. 

"Say  that  again.    Mention  'er  name  again, 

56 


^winkletoes 


and  you  won't  'ave  a  mouth  to  speak  with. 
Understand?" 

He  bent  over  the  crouching  figure,  prod- 
ding him  in  the  ribs,  sending  half -arm  jabs 
to  the  hidden  face,  and  kneeing  him  about  the 
body.  Perce  was  gasping.  He  was  bleed- 
ing from  nose  and  mouth.  His  face  was  dis- 
colored to  the  tinge  of  raw  beetroot. 

By  this  time  a  bunch  of  loungers  had 
gathered.  Perce  had  no  fight  in  him,  and, 
to  the  delight  of  the  company,  Chuck,  with 
very  serious  manner,  tucked  him  under  his 
arm  and  chastised  him  well  and  truly.  They 
formed  a  circle  and  chanted  a  music-hall 
chorus  of  the  day: 

"Dear   old   pals, 
Jolly   old   pals, 
You  find  where'er  you  roam!" 

"That's  that,"  he  said,  when  it  was  ended. 
"  'F  you  want  any  more,  y'know  'ow  to  get 
it.  'Tain't  'ealthy  for  you  t'interfere  with 
kids.     See?" 

Cissie  Lightfoot,  seated  at  her  window 

57 


T^winklefoes 


with  a  copy  of  The  Bouquet  Novelettes  in  her 
hand,  witnessed  the  fight  and,  later,  when 
Chuck  and  the  crowd  had  departed,  she 
called  to  the  damaged  Perce  to  step  up. 

He  stepped  up. 

"What's  my  old  pot-and-pan  bin  doing  to 
yer?"  she  asked. 

"Damn  silly  thing  t'ask.     Gaucher  see?" 

"Yes,  but  what's  it  all  for?" 

"Oh,  I  d'know.  They've  all  gorn  barmy  at 
the  Works,  I  think.  Anybody'd  think  that 
old  Minasi's  kid  was  Gawd's  own  angel." 

Cissie  became  keen.  She  asked  no  ques- 
tions for  fear  of  getting  evasive  or  inade- 
quate answers. 

"I  know.  Chuck's  gorn  batty  over  'er. 
I've  'eard  a  lot  in  different  ways.  If  she  is 
a  blasted  angel — and  it  ain't  so  sure — kid's 
like  her  gen'ly  know  a  bit — what  the  'ell  do 
they  want  to  keep  'er  'ere  for?  In  Poplar? 
We  ain't  got  no  room  for  angels  'ere. 
'Eaven's  their  place.  Why  can't  they  keep 
in  it?     They  on'y  make  trouble  in  a  pJace 

58 


'T'winkletoes 


like  this."  She  looked  through  the  grimy 
window,  with  its  rag  of  curtain.  "So  Chuck 
put  it  acrors  jo\x^.  Tried  to  start  on  me 
t'other  night,  but  it  didn't  come  orf." 

"Whaffor?" 

"Oh,  I  chipped  'im  about  the  nipper." 

"Huh!"  Perce  gave  a  superior  but  rueful 
laugh.  "I  did  a  bit  more  than  that.  I'd  bin 
'aving  a  pipe,  and  I  went  bald-'eaded  at  'er. 
Bald-'eaded.  'Strewth,  y 'ought  t'ave  seen 
the  rumpus  old  Minasi  and  Chuck  made.  If 
I'd  a-sold  the  business  to  the  narks  they 
couldn't  'a'  bin  madder.  Well,  I  got  one  in 
fer  Chuck,  now,  and  I  don't  mind  tellin'  yeh 
even  if  'e  is  yer  'usband." 

"Oh,  that  don't  worry  me.  Wish  to  Gawd 
'e  wasn't.  I  don't  blame  yeh.  You  got 
reason  to." 

"Yerss,  and  I'll  work  it  orf  'fore  long." 

Cissie  looked  at  him,  and  he  at  Cissie.  "I 
s'pose,  now  ..."  she  began. 

'Yerss?" 

'Oh— nothing." 

59 


4C^ 


"Twhjkletoes 


"But  you  was  saying  .  .  ." 

"Oh,  I  was  on'y  thinking.  'Ow  easy  it'd 
be.  They're  a  rotten  lot  round  there.  All 
of  'em.  Playing  up  to  the  angel-face  like 
they  was  a  blasted  lot  of  parsons,  and  all  the 
time  doing — well,  you  know  what.  I  ain't 
never  been  connected  with  games  o'  that  sort. 
My  people  was  respectable,  and  I've  kept 
meself  respectable." 

She  inspected  her  broken  shoes. 

"  'At's  so."     Perce  assumed  boredom. 

After  a  minute  she  looked  up.  "Plenty 
of  people'd  like  to  jump  the  game.  Know 
old  Territon?" 

"What— th'  Inspector?" 

She  nodded. 

"  'Ere — go  easy,"  he  snapped,  and  moved 
suddenly  and  sat  down  again,  touching  sore 
places  with  solicitous  hands.  "That'd  be 
'eaithy  fer  me,  wouldn't  it?" 

"You  could  make  a  get-away  'forehand. 
You  could  lie  under  easy.  I  could  fix  it  for 
yeh.     I  know  a  man." 

60 


^winkletoes 


"Grr!" 

"Straight.  Listen."  She  closed  the 
window  dehcately.  "Listen.  You  got  one 
on  Chuck.  Well,  I  got  a  'underd  on  'im. 
Ain't  I  'ad  enough  from  'im  for  the  last  six 
months?    You  don't  know  what  I've  'ad. 

I've   'ad   enough  to — to And   it's   all 

through  that  lousy  Minasi  kid."  Her  face 
lost  its  slackness  and  became  hard.  Her 
hands  closed.  "I'd  like  to  break  'em  up.  The 
whole  lot.  Break  'em.  Smash  'em  to  bits. 
But  I  can't  break  'em  on  me  own.  There's 
on'y  one  way  I  know,  and  if  I  used  that  .  .  , 
Y'see,  people'd  talk  if  I  jumped  me  own 
man's  game.  Somebody  else  could,  though, 
and  me  not  know  nothing  about  it,  like.  See 
what  I  mean?  But  there — I  s'pose  you're 
too  funky  to  risk  it.     Besides  ..." 

"  'Ere,  come,"  said  Perce  airily.  He 
preened  himself.  "I  dunno  so  much  about 
that.  I  ain't  a  fighter,  I  know.  I  ain't  'ad 
no  training.  But  there  ain't  many  things 
I'm  afraid  of.     If  I  like  to  go  for  a  thing,  I 

61 


'T'winkletoes 


go — all  out.  Nobody  who  knows  me'd  say 
that  I  funked.  Not  when  I'm  really  keen. 
Ask  anybody.    Ask  old " 

"Well,  then.  You  got  yer  chance.  I'm 
giving-  it  yeh.  You  won't  wipe  Chuck  out 
by  fighting.     But  .  .  ." 

"Yerss." 

"Well,  then  .  .  ." 

They  sat  on  rickety  chairs  in  some  minutes' 
silence.  Then:  "  'Ave  a  drop  o'  beer,"  said 
Cissie.  "You  look  as  though  you  could  do 
with  it." 

"I  don'  mind.  And  yeh  needn't  rub  it  in. 
I  feel  like  a  plurry  clothes- 'orse." 

"I  know.  'Ere's  luck!  And  now  listen 
to  me." 

And  she  kept  him  in  cold,  busy  talk  for  the 
space  of  an  hour. 


62 


IV 

ONCE  out  of  Mandarin  Court,  Twin- 
kletoes  ran  fawn-like  towards  the 
Quayside  at  Shadwell.  She  was 
late.  The  Quayside  was  a  small  affair  that 
choked  a  byway  of  Commercial  Road  East 
— a  dusty  survival  of  the  old-style  hall,  with 
a  public-house  adjoining.  It  had  few  turns 
on  its  books,  and  these  came  round  in  rotation 
every  five  or  six  weeks.  But  the  Quayside 
public  was  pathetically  faithful  to  its  second- 
rate  entertainers.  One  of  the  favorite  turns 
was  that  of  "The  Quayside  Kids,"  a  troupe 
of  juveniles  led  by  Twinkletoes,  w^ho  sang 
and  danced ;  and  a  brave  picture  they  made, 
those  groups  of  glorious  girls,  touched  with 
all  the  charms  of  their  little  years,  with 
Twinkletoes  in  the  centre,  her  young  throat 
quivering  like  a  singing  bird's.  Merely  to 
gaze  upon  them  was  at  once  refresliment  of 
body  and  spirit. 

She    was    never    quite    placed    by    her 
audience.  She  drew  them  while  some  of  them 

63 


'T'winkletoes 


— the    bar   crowd — resented    being    drawn. 
They  would  leave  their  drinks  to  watch  her 
dances,  fairy  or  goblin;  and  when  she  had 
finished  they  would  wonder  why  on  earth 
they'd  left  the  bar.     Yet,  whatever  she  was — 
angel  or  goblin  or  just  a  child — none  could 
be  in  her  presence  without  gaining  from  her 
something  of  that  tranquillity  of  soul  which 
makes  life  not  bearable  but  a  magnificent 
enterprise.      At  fifteen  she  knew  all  those 
terrible  things  that  philosophers  achieve  when 
they  come  home  by  Weeping  Cross.     The 
wisdom  and  the  heart-ache,  the  tears  and  the 
laughter,  and  the  grief  and  beauty  of  all 
transient  things  she  carried  in  that  pert  head 
set  so  aptly  upon  her,  and  her  impetuous  legs 
translated  to  her  people  the  glory  of  their 
grey  lives.     The  hearts  of  men  and  women 
were  entangled  in  her  hair,  and  their  desires 
jangled  with  the  anklets  about  her  lily  feet. 
She   taught  them,   without   teaching,   to 
look  tenderly  upon  everything.     She  taught 
them  that  nothing  was  common  or  unclean 

64 


liwinkletoes 


save  cruelty  and  meanness.  She  taught 
them  to  be  afraid  of  nothing  but  themselves. 
She  made  sweet  and  desirable  all  things  that 
finer  people  called  Vulgar.  She  ridiculed 
everything,  and  her  laughter  never  hurt; 
it  was  like  sun  and  rain  falling  from  the  sky 
to  cleanse  and  clothe.  She  taught  them  to 
live  boldly  and  gladly,  making  beauty  where 
no  beauty  was,  and  her  shining  creed  of 
"Ain't  people  and  things  lovely?"  lit  the 
monotonous  hours  wherever  she  carried  it. 

Sometimes  she  danced  like  the  happy  little 
girl  that  she  was,  and  sometimes  in  a  simu- 
lated frenzy  of  adult  passion  and  despair. 

She  would  dance  on  for  her  solo  with  an 
air  of  tragic  portent,  which  she  shattered  with 
the  first  flash  of  her  smile.  Folks  felt  at 
times  that  she  was  a  poem;  and  then,  by  her 
flagrant  gaiety,  that  she  was  a  crackling 
epigram.  Certainly  she  was  a  problem ;  not 
a  problem  to  ponder,  but  a  problem,  like  life, 
to  accept  and  enjoy. 

Her  stage  manner  embraced  all;  yet  re- 

65 


Twinkletoes 


mained  curiously  private  and  personal.  She 
would  turn  suddenly  and  deliver  to  the  stalls 
a  glance  at  once  wide  and  intimate.  All 
were  in  the  joke,  yet  each  felt  that  he  alone 
understood  it.  She  w^as  in  raptures  about 
some  marvellous  secret,  apart  from  the  busi- 
ness of  the  stage,  and  she  possessed  that 
intangible  something  that  wafted  this  rap- 
ture across  the  band  to  each  individual  in  the 
steaming  house.  So  unerring  was  her 
judgment  in  regard  to  her  own  .capacities 
that,  when  she  wished  to  feature  a  particular 
dance,  the  controller  of  the  troupe  usually 
allowed  it,  and  a  small  and  dusty  hall  in  the 
Shadwell  district  once  presented  Twinkletoes 
and  companions  in  the  sombre  False  Triste 
of  Sibelius.  Draped  in  a  black  veil,  she 
sleep-walked  through  its  long  surging 
strokes.  Thej^  evoked  in  her  a  certain  mys- 
tery into  which  the  real  child  dissolved  and 
through  which  one  glimpsed  a  new,  remote 
Twinkletoes ;  and  a  breath  of  foreign  North- 
ern seas  was  carried  to  East  End  working 

66 


T'winkletoes 


men  and  women.  Again,  she  might  choose 
stately  pavanes  and  minuets,  joyous  gavottes 
and  mazurkas,  frantic  sarabands.  But 
most  she  loved  and  danced  those  crystalline 
bits  of  Mediterranean  melody  from  Mas- 
senet, Delibes,  Giordano,  Wolf-Ferrari, 
Ponchielli,  and  Scarlatti:  music  which  ran 
into  her  pulses  and  made  her  body  a  very 
tune. 

To  the  gallery  boys,  who  had  constituted 
themselves  a  guard  of  honor  to  the  Quayside 
Kids,  she  was  a  pet.  There  existed  between 
them  and  her  a  subtle  rapprochement,  and 
the  symphony  for  the  Kids'  number  was 
greeted  with  yells  and  local  war-cries.  At  the 
rise  of  the  curtain  she  would  acknowledge 
this  greeting,  sometimes  with  a  delicious 
grimace,  sometimes,  when  she  felt  devilish, 
with  a  raspberry.  They  liked  her,  not  so 
much  for  her  turn  ( thej'^  would  have  told  you 
that  dancing  bored  them  stiff),  as  because 
she  was  so  lovely  to  look  at,  her  joy  so  con- 
tagious.    They  had  loved  her  since  the  night 

67 


T^winkletoes 


of  the  alarm  of  fire,  when  she  had  averted  a 
panic  by  dancing  on  before  a  front  cloth  and 
distributing  her  garters  and  ribbons  to  the 
stalls,  while  chi-iking  the  gallery  with  ribald 
comment  and  richly  improper  gesture. 

If,  in  her  dance,  she  showed  signs  of  flag- 
ging, they  would  encourage  her:  "Go  it, 
young  'un.  Faster!  Put  yer  back  in  it! 
Put  rings  round  'em,  kid!"  When  the  Kids' 
turn  was  over,  and  Twinkletoes  took  her 
curtain  call,  there  would  come  from  the  boys 
a  harmonized  chorus: 

Are  we  to  part  like  this.  Bill? 
Are  we  to  part  this  way? 

For  any  turn  that  failed  to  reach  their 
standard — red-nose  comedian,  piano  enter- 
tainer, or  girl  vocalist — they  had  a  set  for- 
mula. Taking  the  signal  from  their  leader, 
they  would  chant,  to  the  four  notes  of  Big 
Ben: 

Git  orf!     Git  orf! 
Git  orf!     Git  orf! 
68 


T^winkletoes 


Then,  in  staccato  shouts : 

We Want- 

and  explosively: 


TWINKLETOES! 

We Want 

TWINKLETOES! 


and  this  they  would  maintain  until  the  dis- 
concerted  artist  had  disappeared. 

As  she  pelted  towards  the  stage-door  she 
was  greeted  and  chi-iked  from  all  sides.  A 
group  of  little  girls  hung  round  the  door, 
enviously  worshipping  all  members  of  the 
Quayside  Kids,  and  particularly  Twinkle- 
toes,  while  they  dreamed  of  the  day  when 
they,  too,  might  get  "on  the  stage"  and 
possess  that  glory  and  power  that  enabled 
them  to  pass  casually  through  that  narrow, 
frowsty  gatewaj^  into  the  delectable  land  of 
lights  and  colors  and  popular  acclaim. 
People  stopped  what  they  were  doing  to  give 
a  nod,  and  did  nothing  for  some  moments 

69 


T^winkletoes 


after,  following  her  with  glances  as  she  w^ent. 
The  landlady  of  the  Quayside  bar  beamed 
upon  her.  The  pot-man  chirruped  a 
"Watcherkid!"  The  stage-door  keeper 
turned  laborious  wit  upon  her,  and  in  the 
dressing-room  the  Quaysides  received  her 
with  shrill  whistles,  while  the  Matron  in 
charge  of  them,  a  stout  old  dame  in  black 
dress  and  white  apron,  met  her  with  placid 
reproof : 

"You're  late,  Minasi!" 

"Can't  'elp  it.  Ma.  Just  in  time.  Be 
just  in  time  and  fear  not."  And  then  her 
little  body  was  a  whirl  of  frock  and  petticoat 
and  descending  stockings.  "Who's  got  me 
powder?  Where's  me  powder?  Suffering 
Jesus!     Someone's  pinched  me " 

"Minasi!"  cried  Ma. 

"No,  but,  Ma — someone's  bin  and  'alf- 
inched  me  powder.  Someone's  done  the  dirty 
on  me.  Never  mind.  I'd  sooner  have  a  red 
nose  than  a  spot  on " 


A  call-boy  appeared. 

70 


l^winkletoes 


"Quaysides!  Willie  Wangler's  on." 
Meanwhile,  at  hundreds  of  late  tea-tables 
in  Limehouse  and  Poplar,  people  were  an- 
ticipating a  visit  to  the  Quaj'^side.  Husbands 
were  putting  on  clean  shirts  and  otherwise 
preparing  to  take  their  wives.  Bright  boys 
were  cleaning  their  boots  and  arranging  to 
meet  their  girls  at  given  corners  in  order  to 
have  sixpenn'orth  of  "lean-over."  Women 
with  the  evening  free  were  planning  enter- 
tainment with  other  women.  They  talked 
of  it ;  they  thought  about  it ;  they  washed  and 
arranged  for  it.  Many  of  them  had  saved 
money  for  it,  or  denied  themselves  a  relish  for 
tea  in  order  to  obtain  one  of  the  more  expen- 
sive seats.  They  disinterred  Sunday  bonnets 
and  speculated  as  to  whether  they  might  wear 
the  everyday  one  or  whether  that  Mrs.  So- 
and-so  might  be  there,  quizzing;  and  they 
were  robed  and  ready  half-an-hour  before 
they  should  start. 

Why?     Because    Twinkletoes    and    the 
children  were  dancing;  and,  because  it  was 

n 


T^winkletoes 


the  spirit  of  youth  that  they  danced,  all  the 
old  ladies  of  Poplar  crowded  to  see  it. 

At  the  theatre  they  inspected  the  faded 
photographs,  hung  at  the  main  entrance,  of 
the  massed  troupe  of  joyous  children  posed 
in  a  finale,  and  the  separate  photographs  of 
Twinkletoes,  and  then  joined  the  queues,  at 
pit  and  gallery  doors. 

Willie  Wangler,  the  famous  washer- 
woman comedian,  was  the  star,  but  the  Quay- 
side Kids  were  the  bottom-liners,  and  of  the 
eager  multitude  only  the  young  people  were 
attracted  by  Willie  Wangler. 

The  evening's  bill  was  discussed  in  detail, 
arbitrary  criticism  being  offered  on  each 
turn,  with  occasional  exclusive  information 
as  to  the  personal  habits  of  any  given  turn. 

"Well,  I  'ope  they  open  the  door  soon. 
My  feet's  that  cold.  I  alwis  love  to  see  the 
kids  dancing,  don't  you?  Ain't  they  little 
darlings?     And  they  do  seem  to  enjoy  it 


so." 


'Ah,   that's   a   fact   they   do — especially 

72 


'Twinkletoes 


that  golden- 'eaded  one — Twinkletoes,  I  be- 
lieve they  call  'er.  I  know  somebody  who 
knows  'er." 

"No.     Reely?" 

"Ah.  And  they  do  say  she's  just  the  same 
in  private  life  as  she  is  on  the  stage." 

"There,  now.  You  don't  say  so.  Y'know 
I've  alwis  'eard  that  they're  very  cruel  to 
children  on  the  stage  when  they're  training 
'em.    But  cert'ny  this  lot  don't  look  it." 

"No  fear.  It  don't  do  to  believe  all  you 
read  in  the  papers,  my  dear." 

Directly  the  call-boy  gave  the  warning 
that  Willie  Wangler  was  on,  Ma  made  a 
determined  assault  on  Twinkletoes.  In  her 
arms  she  carried  a  cloud  of  filmy,  colored 
stuffs.  She  grabbed  the  child  and,  with 
deft  fingers,  pulled  at  laces  and  buttons,  until 
the  growing  pile  of  clothes  blossomed  about 
her  ankles  like  a  rose.  Through  the  single 
garment  she  now  wore,  her  limbs  rippled  and 
shone  like  flames.  She  stood  upright  before 
Ma,  her  movements  and  glances  swift  as  a 

73 


T'winkletoes 


startled  bird's,  her  arms  stretched  to  sHp 
into  the  robe  for  which  the  old  woman 
fumbled,  her  body  eager  and  clean  and  poised 
like  a  deer  for  the  leap.  The  several  curls 
hung  like  crops  of  golden  wine,  and  every 
fibre  of  her  seemed  to  tingle  with  delight. 
She  was  an  ecstasy  of  youth. 

Face,  bosom,  neck,  arms  and  shoulders 
were  quickly  powdered  or  rouged;  then  Ma 
took  up  a  mass  of  orange-tinted  silk.  One 
end  she  gave  to  Twinkletoes,  and  herself 
walked  away  unwinding  as  she  w^ent. 

"Ready?"  asked  Twinkletoes.  She  put 
one  end  under  her  arms,  then,  turning  and 
turning  her  gleaming  body,  she  moved  to- 
wards ^la,  entwining  her  person  in  silk,  un- 
winding herself  here  and  there  and  winding 
anew  to  avoid  creases.  This  ceremony  ended, 
strips  of  blue  silk  were  wound  about  her  bare 
arms  and  lily  legs,  and  over  all  she  put  a 
green  frock  edged  with  fur  at  neck,  wrists 
and  hem. 

When  she  was  fullv  encased.  Ma  shoved 

74 


'Twmkletoes 


her  into  a  chair,  and  tended  her  curls,  though 
she  had  ah-eady  dressed  them  at  home,  and 
drenched  them  with  a  fluid  that  left  a  peace- 
ful perfume  of  violets.  Then  she  turned  her 
about,  took  her  bare  legs  upon  her  lap  and 
slipped  morsels  of  cotton  wool  under  the 
soles,  and  wound  strips  of  tape  about  them 
and  the  ankles  before  fitting  scarlet  stockings 
and  ballet  shoes. 

In  five  minutes  Twinkletoes  was  ready 
for  the  first  number,  the  bright  green  frock 
and  scarlet  stockings  covering  the  gauze 
necessary  for  a  Puck  dance,  so  that  she  could 
peel  the  top  frock  and  stockings  in  the  wings 
while  Ma  powdered  her  legs,  and  be  ready 
for  the  next  number  in  a  few  seconds.  The 
girls  waited  in  alert  idleness.  Some  of  them 
were  older  than  Twinkletoes  and  a  little 
too  hardened  in  the  coarser  usages  of  life. 
Twinkletoes  did  not  dislike  them  for  their 
ways;  they  hurt  nobody  but  themselves, 
and  they  were  otherwise  such  darlings;  but 
their  frolics  made  no  great  appeal  to  her. 

75 


T^winkletoes 


A  mature  girl  of  seventeen  came  across  to 
her. 

"Say — Twinks — Roseleaf  s  going  to  give 
a  jag  after  the  show.  Come  along?  Why 
not  ?     You  never  have. ' ' 

"Not  for  me,  thanks." 

"Why  not?  'Squite  all  right.  Old  Rose- 
leaf's  nothing  to  be  afraid  of.  He  gets  a 
bit  fresh  at  times,  but  you  can  always  barge 
him  off.  We're  going  to  the  Lantern — 
downstairs — and  then  move  on  to  the  other 
place.  Go  on.  Spread  yourself  a  bit  and 
come.     It's  awful  fun." 

"No,  thanks.  Lilac.     'Tain't  my  game." 

"Oh,  you  are  a  snuffer.  Wh}^  ever  not? 
I  know  you'd  enjoy  it.  We  only  have 
wine,  and  I've  seen  you  put  down  plenty  of 
that." 

"No,  I'm  not  coming.  I'd  like  to,  but — 
it  don't  seem — oh,  I  dunno.  I  can't  come. 
Thanks,  Lilac." 

Lilac  inspected  her.  Then  continued  in  her 
clipped  accent  which  marked  her  from  the 

76 


T^winkletoes 


others  as  a  girl  of  some  education:    "What 
d'you  mean?" 

"Oh,  well,"  in  a  burst  of  confidence,  "it's 
my  dad,  y'know.    'E  wouldn't  like  it." 

"What's  that  matter?  My  dad  wouldn't 
neither,  if  he  knew.  Only  I  don't  let  him 
know.  I  tell  him  we've  had  a  rush  rehearsal 
after  the  show.  He  doesn't  know  any 
better." 

"Ah,  yes,  but  my  dad  ain't  like  that.  I 
couldn't  never  tell  'im  a  lie." 

"Oh,  what's  a  lie — once  in  a  way?" 

"Ah,  you  don't  understand.  My  dad's 
different.  'E  ain't  ordinary.  I'd  feel  a  dirty 
beast  if  ever  I  told  'im  a  lie." 

"Ghu!  All  dads  are  like.  What's  yours? 
He's  only " 

"My  dad's  the  finest,  straightest  man  in 
the  world,"  shrilled  Twinkletoes,  jumping 
up  from  her  chair.  "  'E's  one  o'  the  best 
men  that  ever  lived,  and  anyone  who  says 
'e  ain't  is  asking  for  a  mouthful  o'  blood. 

Suffering  Je " 

77 


^winkletoes 


"Minasi!"  cried  Ma.  "You  know  the 
rules  about  swearing." 

"  'E's  the  cleanest  thing  that  ever  was," 
she  continued,  with  dislocating  fervor,  "and 
I'm  not  coming  on  your  old  jags.  'E 
wouldn't  think  it  decent.  I  dunno  what  'e'd 
think  o'  me  if  'e  'card.  'E  ain't  never  done 
anything  dirty  'imself,  and  'e'd  think  this 
du'ty.  I  Ivnow  'e  would.  And  that's  all 
about  it.  It's  good  enough  for  me.  I  know 
what  goes  on  there.  I  ain't  a  fool,  Lilac.  I 
know  the  rules  of  the  game  from  soup  to 
nuts.  If  you  'ad  a  dad  like  mine  you'd 
understand.  I  don't  say  I  wouldn't  like  to 
come.  I  would.  I've  often  got  all  feathered 
up,  like  I'd  give  anything  to  go  on  the  bat 
for  a  bit  with  your  lot,  but  some'ow  when  I 
think  of  my  dad  I  just  can't.  Y'see,  'e's 
clean  all  through.  'E  don't  understand  these 
jag  games,  and  if  I  batted  I'd  feel  like  I 
couldn't  never  go  near  'im  again." 

"Oh,  all  right.  You  needn't  get  your 
wool  out  over  it." 

78 


T^winkletoes 


"I  wasn't.  On'y — you  see  why  I  can't 
come  in,  and " 

"Quaysides,  please!" 

"Come  on  in,  girls!"  she  cried.  "The 
water's  fine!" 

The  group  of  green  children  flittered  down 
the  stairs  to  the  wings.  Fat  Markie  Rose- 
leaf,  the  manager,  stood  in  a  corner.  He 
had  a  tawny  skin  that  suggested  negroid 
blood.  Crude,  indefinable  emotions  sped 
across  his  face,  expressed  in  changing  lines 
about  the  mouth,  as  he  looked  long  and 
heavily  at  this  cluster  of  youth. 


79 


V 

6  i ^  rOICKS !  Yoicks !  Yoicks !" 

I  It  was  the  voice  of  the  nimble  old 

Dad  outside  Twinkletoes'  bedroom. 
In  his  hand  he  carried  a  cup  of  tea  and  a 
packet  of  Woodbines. 

"  'Ark,  'olloa!"  cried  the  sleepy  dancer. 

Dad  walked  in,  placed  the  tea  and  cigar- 
ettes on  a  chair,  with  a  box  of  matches,  and 
stood  looking  with  effervescent  amusement 
at  the  tumbled  bed  and  its  sleep-flushed 
owner.  Her  eyes  were  bright  and  clear;  her 
yellow  curls  running  with  a  wayward  fire. 
She  grimaced  at  him. 

"Marv'llous  bloody  kid,  ain't  you?"  he 
chortled  affectionately. 

"Don't  care  if  I  am.  I  ain't  kicking. 
What's  the  time?" 

"Ar  pars  nine." 

"Um."  She  sipped  the  tea,  took  a  Wood- 
bine, and  lit  it,  and  lay  back  on  the  pillow. 
Her  little  nightdress,  disordered,  showed  a 
soft  white  shoulder  on  which  still  rested  a 

80 


T'winkletoes 


little  of  last  evening's  powder.  She  stretched 
her  arms  above  her,  and  her  sweet,  straight 
body,  perfect  in  its  immaturity,  like  that  of  a 
white  rosebud  which  suggests  happier  things 
than  the  full  flower  achieves,  was  vibrant. 
"Oh,  Dad — ain't  people  and  things  lovely? 
I'm  so  'appy." 

"That's  the  style.  Watcher  doing  to-day  ? 
I'm  just  orf  to  th'  Works." 

"Oh,  I  d'know.  Mooning  around,  I  s'pose. 
I'll  pop  round  and  see  old  Mrs.  Toplady,  I 
think.  She's  rather  peeved  just  now.  Take 
'er  some  flowers  and  a  drop  of  that  old 
brandy;  we  got  some  left,  I  think.  That 
ought  to  let  the  dog  loose.  She's  been  a  dear 
old  duck  in  'er  time,  but  no  one  goes  near  'er 
now  she's  up  against  it." 

"Righto." 

"Seen  my  new  silk  stockings,  old  man? 
In  that  brown  paper  over  there.  Cast  yer 
eye  over  'em.     Ain't  they  glad?" 

Dad  unfastened  the  parcel  and  inspected 
the  flimsy  arrangements. 

81 


T'winkletoes 


"Huh!  Looks  as  though  only  the  best 
is  good  enough  for  you." 

"Oh,  I  can  rub  along  with  the  best  if  there 
ain't  nothing  better.  Won't  I  have  the 
cheery  leg  with  them  on?  On'y  bought  'em 
last  night.  You  needn't  look  like  that. 
They  didn't  cost  what  you  think  they  did. 
I  got  'em  through  Jessie.  She's  got  an  aunt 
at  one  of  the  big  Stores,  and  gets  everything 
cost  price.  Oh,  look!  Sun's  coming  out. 
Ain't  everything  good?  Bung  off,  Dad. 
I'm  going  to  get  up.  See  you  at  th'  Works 
's  evening.  Don't  go  down  the  mine,  Daddy ; 
there's  plenty  of  coal  in  the  yard !" 

She  had  an  idle  day  before  her :  there  was 
no  rehearsal.  She  hated  rehearsals  as  she 
hated  everything  of  routine  and  order.  She 
knew  far  better  than  the  conductor  how  to 
interpret  a  given  passage,  and  she  had  no 
use  for  his  conventional  theories.  Too, 
rehearsal  always  started  with  blasphemy  and 
ended  with  irritation  and  incipient  neurosis. 

While  the  conductor  seldom  got  his  own 

82 


T'winkletoes 


way  in  the  matter  of  Twinkletoes'  solos,  he 
would  put  the  troupe  through  an  ensemble 
forty  or  fifty  times  to  get  the  effect  he 
wanted.  The  work  would  end  always  with 
the  same  ceremony, 

"Now,  then,  you  perishers,"  he  would 
snap,  when  at  last  some  intricate  movement 
was  satisfactorily  accomplished;  "down  on 
yer  knees,  the  lot  of  yer." 

Down  they  would  go  on  the  cold  stage. 

"Put  yer  'ands  together." 

Twenty  pairs  of  little  hands  would  be 
folded  as  for  prayer. 

"Now,  then:  repeat  after  me:  Oh, 
Gawd " 

"Oh,  God "  they  would  pipe  in  solemn 

ritual. 

"We  thank  Thee " 


We  thank  Thee- 


"That  Thou  has  sent- 
"That  Thou  has  sent- 


>» 


'Dear  Ernie  Puaimtt- 

nm 
83 


'Deal'  Ernie  Pugnutt- 


^winkletoes 


"To  drill  us  blasted  lot  of  twicers  into 
shape." 

"To  drill  us  blasted  lot  of  twicers  into 
shape." 

"That's  it.  And  now  go  and  lose  your- 
selves— quick.     I  'ate  the  sight  of  yeh." 

When  Dad  had  gone,  Twinkletoes  played 
at  getting  up.  In  Shantung  Place  there 
were  no  baths,  so  she  paddled  and  splashed 
in  a  washing  basin  and  flung  her  delighted 
limbs;  and  her  elfin  face,  her  arms,  like 
boughs  of  May,  urgent  and  bright,  and  the 
most  piquant  legs  in  Poplar,  all  gave  as- 
surance, if  any  doubted,  that  everything  was 
indeed  lovely. 

Always  in  her  room  was  a  bunch  of  violets, 
bought  every  day  from  the  old  woman  at 
the  corner  of  East  India  Dock  Road,  near 
the  Star  of  the  East.  These  were  placed  in 
a  bottle  on  the  washing-stand  where  she 
could  see  them  from  the  bed  when  she  woke. 

"Silly  of  me,"she  once  explained  to  Dad, 
"but  I  must  pray  to  something,  and  I  can't 

84 


'^winkletoes 


pray  to  God.  He  seems  such  a  long  way  off. 
So  I  kneel  down  every  night,  and  pray  to 
these.  You  can't  pray  properly  to  any- 
thing you  can't  catch  hold  of,  like." 

She  dressed  slowly,  and  with  some  care, 
hesitating  for  a  moment  betw^een  brown 
socks  and  the  new  silk  stockings,  finally 
choosing  the  stockings  and  drawing  them  on 
with  a  loud  sigh  of  delight.  The  short  frock 
which  finished  aptly  at  the  knee  gave  her 
legs  a  brave  show,  and  in  their  transparent 
coverings  they  appeared  positively  insolent, 
challenging.  She  quickly  made  the  beds  and 
"tidied  the  place"  up,  leaving  the  heavier 
cleaning  for  Mrs.  Next-door,  who  came  in 
three  times  a  week  and  turned  the  cottage 
on  its  head.  Dad  took  all  his  meals  outside, 
bringing  in  cooked  meat  for  Twinkletoes' 
supper,  so  that  only  on  Sundays  did  she 
have  to  do  what  she  called  the  Domestic  Act. 

These  jobs  done,  she  found  a  brown  sports 
coat  and  a  lacy  hat,  and  was  ready  to  astonish 
the   natives — as    she    always    did.     In   the 

85 


T^winkletoes 


kitchen  she  filled  a  small  bottle  with  a 
measure  of  the  old  brandy  for  Mrs.  Toplady, 
and  poured  herself  out  a  small  Bass —  her 
customary  breakfast. 

She  paused  for  a  moment  at  the  door  to 
finish  her  third  cigarette,  tossing  back  the 
crowding  curls,  a  petulant  leg  kicking  idly 
at  nothing.  Then  with  a  thrill  of  dainty 
frock  she  skipped  into  Shantung  Place, 
whose  ladies  were  "sloshing  down  their 
fronts,"  as  they  said,  and  gave  the  merry 
word  to  all  she  passed. 

She  loved  the  comradeship  of  streets  and 
shops,  and  hated  the  silly  old  country.  The 
lights  and  the  noise  and  the  pungent  odors 
held  her  happily  captive.  A  farm  was  to  her 
an  abode  of  blood  and  filth.  The  damnable 
solitudes,  the  enei^^ating  skies,  the  stupid 
seas  and  woods  and  fields,  she  loathed. 
She  was  a  town  girl,  and  sweeping  moor- 
lands and  flower-spangled  hills  lit  in  her,  as 
in  all  town  people,  pernicious  flames,  while 
the  considered  allurements  of  town  life,  which 

86 


Twinkletoes 


abounded  for  the  having  in  Limehouse,  had 
left  her  unmarked.  The  life  she  led  might 
be  labelled  by  some  as  artificial.  But 
among  theaters  and  halls,  sensuous  music, 
swirling  limbs,  provocative  song,  glitter, 
drinking-bars,  smoking-rooms,  and  the  ap- 
purtenances, in  the  popular  conception,  of 
moral  dirt  and  the  soul's  decay,  she  developed 
towards  joy.  Being  very  wise,  she  knew 
that  the  only  natural  life  for  humans  is  town 
life;  that  spaces  and  silences  are  unnatural, 
and  therefore  encourage  the  development  of 
the  unnatural.  She  knew  that  country 
life  is  fundamentally  obnoxious  to  man,  and 
only  serves  to  drive  him  stupid  or  into  him- 
self, and  sets  him  seeking  in  strange  corners 
that  distraction  that  is  ever  at  hand  in  com- 
fortable streets.  God  created  man  in  a  fair 
and  lonely  garden,  she  maintained;  but  He 
never  meant  him  to  stay  there,  or  that  jolly 
old  parable  about  Ten  Talents  wouldn't 
have  been  told. 

Her  first  move  was  towards  a  low  lane 

87 


Twinkletoes 


of  crumbling  cottages  behind  Poplar  High 
Street.  Its  aroma  was  offensive.  Betel  nut 
and  decaying  refuse  battled  with  each  other. 
One  looked  from  the  windows  of  these 
cottages  into  the  bleary  face  of  Poplar,  and 
the  vociferant  life  of  the  main  road  came 
clearly,  in  tabloid  form.  The  walls  of  the 
houses  were  peeling  in  dank  strips.  Slat- 
ternly women  of  indeterminate  ages  lounged 
in  doorways,  gossiping  with  Next-door,  or 
thrusting  heads  from  frowsy  windows  to  cry 
philosophies  to  Over-the-road.  A  cat's-meat 
cart  stood  at  the  corner,  and  Twinkletoes 
stopped  her  progress  to  stroke  the  head  of  the 
dolorous  horse. 

"  'UUo,  'ere's  a  norse.  What  a  nice  norse! 
Poor  old  norsey-porsey.  'Ave  a  banana? 
I  ain't  got  one,  but  you  could  'ave  one  if  I 
'ad." 

A  half-starved  child,  of  nine  lean  winters, 
stood  with  nose  pressed  against  the  window 
of  a  cheap  sweet  and  cake  shop.  Twinkle- 
toes  looked  at  her.     Then  she  gave  her  a 

88 


^winkletoes 


violent  shove  in  the  back.  The  child's  lunatic 
start  showed  that  she  had  reason  to  fear  such 
approaches. 

Twinkletoes  jerked  a  thumb  at  the  window 
with  one  of  her  rich  grimaces  which  asked  a 
question  or  told  a  story  without  words.  She 
opened  the  door  and  went  in,  and  the  child, 
understanding,  followed  her.  Twinkletoes 
whistled  on  her  teeth  and  jangled  coppers 
before  her  guest. 

"Cakes,  dear,"  said  Twinkletoes  to  the 
grey-haired  dame  of  the  shop.  "And  choco- 
late. And  one  o'  those  hot  drinks.  .  .  . 
There  y'are  kid.  Bung  off.  Think  kindly 
of  me  when  I'm  dead." 

With  stolid  face  the  child  took  the  gifts, 
looked  up  at  Twinkletoes,  then  turned  from 
the  shop,  and  fled  furiously  down  the  street 
towards  home. 

As  Twinkletoes  proceeded  to  Mrs.  Top- 
lady's,  a  neat,  spry  figure  came  smartly 
round  a  corner,  conscious  of  the  glories  of 
bowler  hat,   cigarette,   and  wanghee   cane. 

89 


T^winkletoes 


His  lively  face  conveyed  the  awful  sugges- 
tion that  he  was  about  to  be  funny. 

"'Ullo,  Face!"  said  Twinldetoes. 

He  stopped.  The  cigarette,  riding  so 
jauntily  on  his  lips,  dropped.  He  fumbled 
wildly  for  it,  caught  it,  squashed  it  against 
him,  then  left  it  to  its  fate.  It  went  miser- 
ably to  the  gutter  in  a  shower  of  sparks,  and 
Twinkletoes  wondered  if  glow-worms  looked 
like  that  when  vou  trod  on  them. 

"Oh — you — Swankpot.  Bin  to  the  second- 
'and  shop.  I  see."  He  pointed  to  the 
stockings. 

"Yes.  Met  your  father  there — pawning 
some  of  the  hats  what  've  got  too  small  for 
you." 

"Huh!  Fresh  thing  ain't  you?  .  .  . 
'Aven't  'card  'bout  me,  I  s'pose?" 

"That's  all  we  do  'ear  about  when  you 
start  talking." 

"No — serious.  Roseleaf's  going  to  give 
me  a  trial." 

"Oh.     'Ope  'e  finds  you  guilty." 

90 


^wmkletoes 


"No,  reely,  though.  No  chipping,  Twinks. 
'E's  going  to  give  me  a  show.  Extra  turn. 
Sat'd'y  night.  Imitations,  and  song  and 
dance." 

"  'Onest?  Well,  'ope  you  come  through 
all  right,  Bert.  I'll  get  in  early,  and  see  you. 
Don't  get  nervy.  'F  you  go  as  you  did  at 
that  smoking  concert,  you're  all  right.  Goo' 
luck,  boy." 

"Thanks,  kid.     S'long." 

"  'Ow's  yer  father?" 

"Oh,  'e's  all  right.  On'y  'e  don't  like  this 
strike  o'  mine.  Silly  of  'im,  y'know.  But 
I  don'  take  no  notice.  I  just  go  on,  and  let 
'im  growse.  I  got  to  get  on,  y'know, 
some'ow.  There  ain't  nothing  in  that  ware- 
house place  for  me.  I  got  to  move  some'ow. 
.  .  .  Y'see  'e  thinks  I  shall  get  on  top  and 
— sort  of  look  down  on  'im,  but  that  ain't  me. 
'Is  little  bats  don't  worry  me.  'E's  always 
the  old  dad.  I  ain't  going  to  ask  him  to  get 
on  with  me,  if  'e  don't  want  to.  But  I 
sha'n't  ever  get  orf  'im.     That  ain't  my  style. 

91 


^winkletoes 


Stick  to  them  what  sticks  to  you  is  my  mot- 
ter.     Well — wow-wow!" 

Twinkletoes  went  on,  and  found  Mrs. 
Toplady  in  a  chair  in  the  kitchen  of  her  cot- 
tage. Her  eyes  glistened  at  sight  of  her 
visitor.  They  became  twin  stars  when  she 
saw  the  visitor's  gift,  and  she  remarked  that 
God  was  good  to  His  own,  bless  'Is  'eart. 
She  found  a  glass  at  once,  and  proceeded  to 
do  herself  good. 

"My!  but  that's  a  drop  of  rare  stuff, 
Twinks,  my  love." 

"You  bet.  Brown  brandy,  my  dear. 
Guaranteed  to  stretch  the  dog  out  at  fifty 
yards." 

"Don't  it  drink  lovely  and  smooth?" 

"Yes,  you  don't  want  no  didn't-oughter 
with  that,  eh?  Just  met  j^oung  Bertie  Trun- 
dett. '  'E's  going  to  get  a  show  at  our  place, 
'e  tells  me." 

"There,  now!  Ain't  it  wonderful  'ow  the 
children  get  on  now'days?  Wonderful. 
Them  Trundetts,  now.     Brought  up  in  the 

92 


'Twhzklefoes 


gutter,  as  you  might  say,  and  now  they  got  a 
piano." 

"Got  it  on  the  'ire  system,  though"  said 
a  ragged  voice,  through  Mrs.  Toplady's 
kitchen  window.  "  'Cos  I  know  the  shop 
they  got  it  at,  and  I  seen  'im  paying  the  instal 

That's  a  nice  drop  o'  stuff  you  got  there, 

Mrs.  Toplady."  The  intruder  sniffed  ap- 
provingly. 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Topladj%  "and  there  s 
on'y  enough  for  one." 

"Oh,  a  Wright.  Awright.  I  ain't  one  to 
shove  meself.  I  can  take  a  'int,  same  as 
others.     I  know  when  I  ain't  wanted." 

"Never  mind,  old  dear,"  cried  Twinkletoes, 
as  the  visitor  disappeared  into  her  own 
grounds,  "I'll  bring  you  some  next  time — 
a  real  nice  drop." 

"There,  now!"  said  the  visitor  to  the 
eternities.  "Ain't  she  a  bleeding  little 
angel?" 

Twinkletoes,  brave  little  woman,  was  re- 
garded as  a  court  of  appeal  in  this  lost  lane, 

93 


l^winkletoes 


and  was  received  with  that  courtesy  which 
in  more  polite  parts  is  reserved  for  the  vicar 
or  the  district  visitor,  though  here  the  vicar 
and  his  ladies  seldom  dared  to  show  them- 
selves. Even  the  solitary  constable  found 
his  casual  gazes  at  loungers  met  with  an  easy 
brute  calm  which  disturbed  his  self-assurance. 
Twinkletoes  mothered  the  Lane's  children, 
when  she  had  time.  She  advised  as  to  the 
expenditure  of  the  few  shillings  that  arrived 
on  Saturday  nights.  She  knew  by  instinct 
where  the  best  value  was  to  be  obtained; 
the  right  stall  in  the  right  street  when 
potatoes  were  in  question,  and  how  one 
should  come  at  the  highest  value  in  the 
matter  of  fried  fish.  By  graphic  parables, 
she  had  induced  Mrs.  Trundett  to  abandon 
her  ineffectual  fumblings  at  spotting  the 
winner;  and  for  those  to  whom  he  was  an 
urgent  necessity,  she  had  found  the  ideal 
Uncle. 

She  looked  in  at  the  Trundetts'  to  con- 
gratulate them  on  Bert's  coming  debut,  and 

94 


liwinkletoes 


found  herself  involved  in  a  domestic  up- 
heaval. 

"Say,  Twinkletoes,  wonder  if  you'd  mind 
popping  in  next  door  and  having  a  say  at 
them.  Way  'e  knocks  'er  about's  something 
awful.  Up  against  the  wall.  Fair  shook 
my  ornaments  orf  the  mantelpiece  t'other 
night.  It  did,  straight.  And  they  cost 
money.  I  bought  'em  meself.  At  the  six- 
penny-'apney  shop.     So  you  can  tell." 

Next  door,  Mr.  Bill  Garside  hulked  in  a 
chair  by  the  fire,  his  feet  on  the  hob,  his 
mouth  at  a  brown  stone  jug. 

"Hi— you!" 

"  'Uilo,  kid." 

"Go  easy  on  yer  indoor  sports,  old  cock." 

"Talking  to  me?" 

"Um.  Hide-and-seek  with  Mrs.  Garside's 
all  right,  but  what  about  Mrs.  Trundett's 
ornaments.     Eh?" 

"Well,  what  about  'em?" 

"You  smashed  'em.  Bashing  yer  bother- 
and-strife's    'ead    against    the    wall,    you 

95 


T'wmkletoes 


knocked  'em  off  Mrs.  T.'s  mantelpiece." 

"Oh.     Sorry." 

"I  should  think  so.  And  why  don't  yeh 
wash  yesself ,  yer  twicer  ?  You  wouldn't  'alf 
cop  it  if  I  was  yer  wife." 

"I  bet  I  would.  Gaw'd  'elp  the  bloke  wot 
marries  you.  Like  a  mouthful  of  ginger  and 
mustard,  you  are."  He  grinned  as  an  amiable 
giant  might  grin  at  a  furious  elf. 

"Now,  look  'ere,  me  old  brown  son — do 
pull  yesself  together  a  bit.  Go  on.  Just 
to  please  me."  She  put  her  arm  round  his 
chair,  and  did  what  she  called  her  Soul's 
Awakening  business. 

"Oh,  chuck  it.  Gwan  away.  Don'  look 
at  me  like  that,  or,  'fore  I  know  where  I  am, 
I  shall  be  going  to  work."  He  shuddered. 
•  "Well,  why  don't  yeh  ?  'Tain't  the  gamx, 
y'know.  Pretty  to  watch,  sir,  pretty  to 
watch.  But  knocking  the  old  thing  about 
like  that.  .  .  .  Apart  from  Next-door's 
ornaments.  You  are  a  slacking  old  perisher 
— reely  you  are." 

96 


T^winkletoes 


"Gaw!"  he  chuckled,  "don't  the  nippers 
talk  to  yeh,  now?  Wonder  what  I'd  a-got 
if  I'd  talked  to  grown-ups  like  what  you  talk 
to  me.  You  kids  are  getting  too  'ot.  You 
wanter  bit  o'  strap.     'At's  what  you  want." 

"Wouldn't  do  me  no  good,  old  man. 
Might  do  you  good,  though.  Go  on — give 
us  a  kiss.  And  then  give  the  ol'  woman  a 
kiss.  And  make  it  up  with  old  Trundett. 
'E  ain't  'alf  mad  about  'is  ornaments." 

"What?  That  little  bald-'eaded  sardine? 
Why,  I  could  eat  'im  with  'alf  me  mouth. 
Well,  nev'  mind.  'Ere's  yer  kiss,  little  Pot- 
o'-mustard.  And  we'll  see  what  happens  o' 
Sat'd'y.  If  that  thing  I've  backed  comes 
'ome,  I'll  give  the  oF  missis  a  fair  treat.  I 
will.  I'll— I'll  take  'er  to  the  Quayside. 
And  then  we'll  'ave  some  fish-and-chips  at 
Rosen's,  There!  That  good  'nough  for 
yer?" 

"Old  man  Garside — you're  a  cracker. 
S'long." 

She  passed  out  and  through  the  Lane, 

97 


liwinkletoes 


"Bless  'er  lovely  'eart,"  mumbled  a  tooth- 
less old  dame,  whose  eyes  carried  a  twinkle 
reflective  of  good  days  gone.  There's  a 
bleeding  little  saint  for  yeh,  if  ever  Gawd 
made  one." 

From  the  cottages  she  went  to  Chinatown, 
where  strolled  or  loitered  the  furtive  Chinks. 
London's  yellow  streak — Limehouse  Cause- 
way and  Pennyfields — is  severed  by  the  wide, 
flat  West  India  Dock  Road.  Its  quality  is 
tasted  before  you  reach  it — the  tang  of 
spices,  bilge-water,  tarred  ropes;  the  flavor 
of  drugging  flowers.  It  is  just  a  quayside; 
a  resting-place  for  sea-wanderers;  and  it 
holds  that  indefinable  atmosphere  of  impend- 
ing arrivals  and  departures. 

Once  a  year  the  cold  heart  of  the  Orient 
makes  merry,  and  it  rings  with  the  noise  of 
revelry  inflamed  by  Moi-kwee-lo,  a  gin  dis- 
tilled from  rice  and  flavored  with  rose  leaves 
and  remote  Asiatic  buds.  The  Causeway  is 
fully  iUuminated,  throwing  antic  shadows 
from  those  who  dance  and  frolic  at  the  Feast 

98 


T^winkletoes 


of  the  Lanterns.  Color  and  movement 
arrive;  the  adventurous  uncertainty  of 
shadow ;  mists ;  and  unapproachable  windows 
of  many  tones  gleaming  inscrutable  mes- 
sages. The  sinister  clashes  with  the  silver- 
pensive.  Always  there  are  following  feet: 
the  firm  feet  of  the  constable;  the  bullying 
boots  of  the  tough ;  the  thick  steps  that  trickle 
from  the  bars;  and  through  all  the  whisper 
of  slippers,  and  the  rustling  vocabularies  of 
the  Pacific. 

Barbarous  voices  are  raised,  with  appealing 
pipes  of  uncertain  pitch,  solemn  gongs,  and 
crackling  fireworks.  Musicians  squat  on 
tables,  their  proficient  fingers  fluttering  over 
the  strings  of  guitars  like  buttei*fiies  over 
honeyed  flowers.  They  play  apparently 
without  a  sense  of  time,  but  listening  care- 
fully one  discovers  that  they  take  a  few  notes, 
juggle  with  them,  and  give  them  a  certain 
twist  and  spin  which  creates  form.  Yang- 
yow,  yang-yow  go  the  instruments,  and  Hao 
ye  to!  go  the  nasal  voices,  and  Moh-li-Hwa! 

99 


T^winkletoes 


The  shuttered  aspect  of  the  quarter  never 
affrighted  Twinkletoes.  She  held  that  she 
could  put  any  old  joker  in  his  place;  and  she 
frequently  did.  Too,  she  knew  the  Chinese, 
and  their  kindly  M^ays;  she  had  nothing  to 
fear  from  them.  It  was  the  scrofulous 
Malays  of  the  quarter  who  menaced  young 
children,  and  these  she  fixed  with  a  careful 
eye  when  they  passed  her. 

She  walked  boldly  into  the  corner  stores, 
chi-iked  the  boys  who  were  hanging  about 
the  counter,  and  bought  some  suey-sen  and 
lon-gans.  While  they  were  being  packed 
she  trotted  round  the  shop,  with  its  dried 
seaweed,  dried  strips  of  fish  and  duck,  and 
bitter  fruits,  pulling  down  tins,  examining 
everything  that  looked  interesting,  and 
climbing  a  ladder  to  the  colored  packets  on 
the  high  shelves.  The  elegantly  mustached 
proprietor  looked  fondly  at  her,  and  mur- 
mured: "Pao-pei!" 

When  the  parcel  was  ready  she  departed 
with  it  to  the  little  white  cafe  in  the  Cause- 

100 


'Twinkletoes 


way.  "Must  'ave  some  grub,"  she  assured 
herself.  "Do  you  suffer  from  that  sinking 
feeling?  If  so,  send  a  postcard  to  Quong 
Sum."  She  mounted  to  the  upper  chamber, 
and  seated  herself  unabashed  among  the  oily 
seamen  and  the  flusey  white  girls,  who  were 
teaching  them  the  English  language  of 
physical  love. 

"Ao!  Baitho!"  the  waiter  sang  to  her,  and 
she  replied  with: 

"Wow-wow,  old  cock!" 

With  chop-sticks  busily  moving,  she 
swallowed  a  couple  of  noodles  and  a  chop- 
suey  and  a  dish  of  chow-chow,  and  then 
lingered  over  her  tea  and  dried  chrysanthe- 
mum buds,  luxuriously  puffing  a  cigarette. 

The  sing-song  girls  looked  at  her  uncom- 
fortably. They  knew  her,  and  were  a  little 
afraid  of  her.  She  said  and  did  such  out- 
rageous things  for  one  so  young;  yet  they 
felt  that  she  was  good,  while  wondering 
whether  she  were  not  secretly  of  the  breed  of 
themselves;  and  they  could  never  be  sure 

101 


T'winkletoes 


of  her;  never,  by  any  means,  come  at  the 
truth  for  fear  of  being  snubbed  with  horror 
of  their  questionings  and  behavior,  of  hear- 
ing their  own  minds  and  habits  cut  to  pieces. 
They  decided  that  she  was  best  left  alone. 
She  was  very  sure  of  herself;  lived  only  by 
her  own  laws — whatever  they  might  be — and 
held  and  expressed  independent  opinions. 

After  her  meal  she  went  through  the  bead 
curtain  to  the  kitchen,  and  sat  among  the 
cooking  boys  and  talked  to  them  in  London- 
Chinese. 

"  'Ow  goes  ol  fella-chap?     All  right?" 

"Yeh.     Ollight." 

"You  do  heap  plenty  business  to-day?" 

"Yeh.   Good.  Heap  tied.  Plen  binnizez." 

"Make  lot  money?" 

*'Ho  no.     Not  mek  lot  mully." 

"Garn.  You  make  heap  more  money'n 
Sing  See  in  Pennyfields." 

They  shook  their  heads  in  slow  deprecation. 

"Sing  See  mek  heap  lot  mully.  We  mek 
heap  tied.     No  mek  mully." 

102 


^winkletoes 


"Gam — chuck  it.  Say.  Want  tea-pot. 
Tea-pot.  All  same  baby  cradle.  You  know." 
She  pointed  to  a  tea-pot  on  a  shelf,  sunk  in 
a  wicker  basket  lined  with  soft  cushions. 
"  'Ow  much?" 

"Twenny  silling  sispeh,  my  de-ah  mess." 

"No  can." 

"Fifteen  silling." 

"No  can.     Give  five  shilling." 

"Ollight,  my  de-ah  mess,  I  tek." 

"Good.  You  come  see  me  to-night  Quay- 
side?    See  me  dance?" 

"No  can.     No  mully." 

"No  want  money.  Me  give  ticket.  See? 
Me  give  this.     You  come?" 

"Ollight.     I  ken.     You  vay  lice  gel." 

"Yes.  Me  very  fine,  eh?  You  thmk  me 
pretty  girl?" 

"Owr.     Vay  pleh  gel." 

"Then  that's  that,"  said  Twinkletoes,  as 
she  gathered  her  bargain  tea-pot  under  her 
arm.  "Good-bye,  Serene  Little  Father  Of 
Beautiful  Children.     Me  see  you  to-night. 

103 


T^winkletoes 


You  hear  me  sing-dance." 

"Yeh.     Goo'pye!" 

She  flitted  down  the  stairs.  "Some  pot! 
Won't  the  old  man  be  pleased?" 

In  East  India  Dock  Road  she  ran  against 
a  bandsman  who  had  been  dismissed  from 
the  Quayside  for  faulty  time-keeping,  the 
fundamental  cause  being  the  distance  from 
the  Blue  Lantern  to  the  Quayside. 

'"Ullo,  flutey!  Got  the  needle?  You 
ain't  looking  gay." 

"Don't  feel  gay,  neither.  Ain't  'ad  one 
to-day." 

"Well,  let's  take  the  glad  road.  Right 
here.  Come  on.  I  know  you're  up  against 
it.     'Ave  this  with  me." 

They  entered  the  Porcupine,  and  she 
bought  him  a  Guinness. 

"You  sixteen?"  asked  the  barmaid. 

"Me?     Rather.     Turned  sixteen." 

"H'm.     All  right." 

"You  liar!"  murmured  the  bandsman. 

The  bar  was   full  of  yellow  boys,  and, 

104 


l!  winkle  toes 


depositing  her  tea-pot,  Twinkletoes  soon  had 
a  penny  in  the  electric  piano,  which  gurgled 
and  throbbed  an  inviting  melody.  "  'Ave 
a  dance,  old  son!" 

"No.  Not  here.  Not  among  these 
toughs.'* 

"They're  all  right."  She  turned  and  ogled 
the  crowd  deliciously,  and  made  a  grimace 
at  her  guest,  which  set  him  giggling  in  spite 
of  himself.  Then  she  held  entreating  arms 
to  one  of  the  yellow  boys,  and  he  came  for- 
ward and  allowed  her  to  teach  him  intricate 
steps. 

"  'Ave  'nother,  old  son?"  she  cried  to  the 
bandsman  as  she  waltzed. 

"Righto.     Guinness,  please.     'Ere'sfun!'* 

"  'Appy  days,  old  boy!" 

When  the  piano  ceased  she  returned  to 
him.  "Can't  think  how  you  can  mix  up  with 
that  gang.  They're  not — you  know — some- 
thing about  'em." 

"Oh,  they're  all  right.  They're  nice  and 
kind.     I  don't  care  if  they  are  batters,  other- 

105 


^winkletoes 


wise.  I  like  batters.  People  don't  bat  unless 
they've  some  reason.  Unless  they've  been 
through  something.  They  can't  get  the  best 
so  they  take  the  next  best  thing.  And  I 
don't  blame  'em.  We  only  live  once.  And 
there's  one  thing  about  'em.  They  are  alive. 
They  wouldn't  be  batters  if  they  weren't 
alive.  It's  only  the  dull  old  fools  who  can't 
feel  nothing  who  don't  bat.  Go  on — drink  up 
and  'ave  another.     Like  my  new  stockings?" 

Back  in  Shantung  Place  she  set  the  tea-pot 
proudly  on  the  kitchen  table  where  Dad 
would  see  it  when  he  returned. 

Then  she  went  upstairs  to  the  little  bed- 
room. She  lit  a  joss-stick  which  smouldered 
and  filled  the  room  with  unnameable  things 
of  the  East,  and  tenderly  placed  in  the  bottle 
a  fresh  bunch  of  violets.  She  knelt  before 
them,  with  hands  together,  and  prayed;  not 
set  prayers  such  as  the  religious  ones  pray, 
but  the  little  thoughts  that  dared  not  lift 
their  heads  in  the  harsh  world  of  necessity. 
Little  hopes  and  fears  and  fancies  which  she 

106 


'Twinkleloes 


could  not  speak  to  living  things  would  rise 
in  her  heart  and  hover  upon  her  lips  in  those 
few  moments  when  she  communed  with  her 
flowers;  and  it  was  as  though  she  caught 
from  them  something  of  their  quality  of 
armored  innocence.  She  could  tell  them 
even  the  silliest  things. 

She  told  them  what  had  happened  to  her 
during  the  day.  She  asked  them  to  be  quick 
and  set  old  Mrs.  Toplady  right.  She  asked 
them  to  contrive  somehow  to  send  the 
Jenkins'  kid  to  the  seaside.  She  asked  them 
to  stop  old  Garside's  drinkings,  and  incident- 
ally to  let  the  horse  that  Garside  had  backed 
come  home  on  Saturday.  She  asked  them 
to  bless  old  Dad,  and  Chuck  Lightfoot,  and 
young  Perce,  and  the  girls  she  worked  with; 
and  she  begged  them  to  help  her  to  dance 
better  and  to  get  a  good  "hand"  that  night. 

Then  she  got  up  and  stumped  her  toe 
against  the  wash-stand  and  cried:  "Suffer- 
ing Jesus!  What  d'you  do  that  for?"  and 
kicked  the  wash-stand  sharply.     She  shed 

107 


T^winkletoes 


frock  and  petticoat  and  stays,  carefully 
combed  and  brushed  her  curls,  and  did  a  few 
spontaneous  exercises  with  arms  and  legs. 
She  stretched  an  impetuous  leg  taut  in  front 
of  her. 

"Some  leg,  Twinks!"  she  remarked  ap- 
preciatively. It  pleased  her.  She  possessed 
very  strongly  the  joy  and  pride  of  body;  it 
was  rapture  for  her  to  move  her  limbs.  She 
gazed  at  it  for  a  minute. 

"Three  pounds  a  week.  And  all  out  of  a 
leg.     Rum  things — legs." 

She  washed  legs  and  feet  again  and 
dressed,  mumbling  a  cigarette.  She  shook  a 
Chinese  scent  of  pungent  odor  about  her 
person,  and  looked  for  a  coat.  She  chose  the 
black  velvet  one,  slipped  into  it,  and  threw 
her  yellow  tresses,  which  ran  to  her  waist, 
outside  it.  The  great  envelope  made  her 
almost  unbearably  cuddleable,  gave  her  the 
appeal  of  all  young  furred  animals. 

Downstairs  she  routed  in  a  cupboard  for 
a  drop  of  Do-me-Good ;  she  found  only  gin. 

108 


T^winkletoes 


She  sprawled  on  the  sofa,  and  took  a  glass  of 
it,  and  was  then  ready  for  her  flying  visit  to 
the  works. 


Dad  was  laboring  and  swearing  cheerfully 
in  the  Works  when  Chuck  dropped  in  at 
about  five  o'clock. 

"Ah.  There  y'are,  old  son.  Come  down- 
stairs, will  yeh?  Want  a  word  wi'  yeh? 
Seen  young  Perce  anywhere?" 

"Nope." 

"  'E  ain't  bin  'ere  the  last  day  or  two. 
Thought  'e  might  be  sick.  I'll  pop  round 
t'night." 

They  went  below,  and  Dad  stroked  his 
nose. 

"Chuck — I'm  thinking  of  finishing  the 
down-stairs'  biz." 

"Eh?" 

"Yerss.  It's  bin  'urting  me  for  some 
time,  now.  All  the  time,  reely.  And  I 
fancy  it's  getting  a  bit  warm.     The  Prince 

109 


T'winkletoes 


sent  round  t'other  day  for  a  special  job,  but 
I  turned  'im  down.  I've  done  all  right  on 
this,  but  when  it  comes  to  big  things  I'm  a 
False  Alarm.  Matter  o'  fac',  I'm  thinking 
of  quitting  at  once." 

"Well,  now No,  but  .  .  ." 

"See,  Chuck,  y'know  why  I  *ad  to  take 
it  on.  But  she's  all  right  now.  She's  got 
a  contract.  And  I'm  through.  She  needn't 
never  look  back,  now." 

"Huh.     And  me?" 

"Well,  I  dunno.  You  bin  a  good  chap. 
'Ere — why  not  quit,  too?  Why  not  go 
back?  Why  not  run  straight.  I'm  going 
to.  Alwis  thought  you  was  a  fool  to  drop 
Battling." 

"I  didn't.     'E  dropped  me.     Drink." 

"Wodyeh  want  to  go  on  it  for,  at  all? 
You  didn't  use  to." 

"Oh,  you  know  all  about  it." 

"Yerss.  Funny  'ow  she  gets  you  that 
way,  ain't  it?'* 

"Um.     I  feel  a  fair  shyster,  going  the 

110 


T'winkletoes 


way  I've  gorn.  But  there  ain't  nothing  else 
fer  me.  I  can't  get  back  to  the  training 
game.  Battling  wouldn't  'ave  me  nor  no 
one  else.  They  don't  trust  me.  I'm  un- 
certain. You're  all  right.  You  got  the  biz 
—the  straight  biz.  But  it  ain't  any  use  me 
trying  anything  else.  I  got  to  keep  on  this 
lay.     I'm  out." 

"Great  pity,"  said  Dad  sententiously. 
"Great  pity.  Funny  she  got  you  that 
way." 

"Um.  Well,  there  y'are.  'Taint  no  use 
my  trying.  No  one'd  give  me  a  chance.  And, 
as  things  were,  there  wasn't  nothing  for  me 
but  the  booze.  You  can't  never  know  'ow  I 
felt  about  'er.  Me,  older  and  married.  And 
'er,  so — so.  .  .  .  But  there  y'are.  I've  got 
to  stick  it.  Married  to  that  blasted  cow, 
Cissie,  too." 

"Great  pity.  Wish  I  could  do  some- 
thing." 

"Oh,  it  don't  matter,  guv'nor.  I'm  out. 
I  can  work  other  jobs  on  the  same  lay  as  this 

111 


l^winkletoes 


one.  There's  plenty  about  who  want  stuff 
placed.  .  .  ." 

"Say — you  won't  ever  let  on,  will  yeh? 
Case  it  ever  came  round  to  'er?" 

"Blinkin'  cats — wodyeh  take  me  for?" 

"  'Sail  right,  boy.  On'y  y 'understand, 
now  I'm  going  to  run  straight,  'ow  nervy  I 
feel.  What'd  she  think  o'  me  if  she  ever 
knew?  When  I  think  what  she'd  say  and 
'ow  she'd  look,  it  frightens  me,  Chuck.  Fair 
frightens  me.  Alwis  'as.  All  the  time  I 
bin  at  it.  Dunno  'ow  I've  lived  through 
these  yers.  Playing  a  part,  I  bin.  Playing 
up  to  'er,  and  being  gay  and  all  that — letting 
'er  go  on  thinking  I'm  the  straight  feller 
she's  alwis  thought  me.  And  the  snide  game 
at  the  back  all  the  time." 

"Trust  me,  guv'nor.  I  wouldn't  do 
nothing  that'd  'urt  'er  ever  so.  See  you  at 
the  Lantern,  t'night.     S'long." 


112 


VI 

CHUCK,"  sad  Dad  at  the  Works  a 
few  days  later,   "come  round  to- 
night and   'ave  a  bit  o'   supper? 
It's  Twinks'  birthday.    Sixteen  to-day.    I'll 
get  the  boys  along.     She'll  be  orf  just  after 
eleven.     She  wants  you  to  come." 

Chuck  looked  wretched  at  the  invitation, 
but  he  accepted  it.  He  had  not  the  courage 
to  refuse ;  yet  his  heart  sank  at  the  prospect 
of  seeing  Twinldetoes,  as  outrageously 
happy  as  a  street  organ  on  a  wet  evening, 
presiding  as  hostess  at  a  table  where  he  sat, 
yet  a  thousand  miles  distant  from  him. 

"Awright.     I'll  come  along,"  he  replied. 

Dad  had  previously  left  instructions  with 
Twinkletoes  to  lay  in  a  spread  for  her  feast, 
and  to  arrange  for  the  boys. 

"Get  some  sausages — or  something  that 
cooks  easy  and  looks  nice.  And  you  can 
get  some  pease  pudden  to  go  with  'em  round 
at  Abrahams'.  And  get  some  whisky  for 
the  Prince.    'E  don't  touch  beer.    And  some 

113 


T'winkletoes 


wine  for  yesself.  And  'ow  about  a  little 
bottle  o'  Benedictine?  We  got  a  clean 
table-cloth,  ain't  we?  And  you  can  borrow 
some  things  from  Mrs.  Next-door  if  we  ain't 
got  everything.  What  about  cheese?  Bet- 
ter get  some.  And  some  fruit  and  biscuits. 
And  don't  be  all  day  about  it,  neether.  Mrs. 
Next-door'U  give  yer  a  hand.  Get  it  all 
ready  'fore  yeh  go." 

"Righto.  You  won't  start  'fore  I'm 
back,  will  yeh?" 

"Wodyeh  take  us  for,  yeh  little  snorter? 
I  'ope  we  know  manners.  Start  before  the 
lady?  The  moment  you  puts  yer  nose 
round  the  door  I'll  'ave  the  sausages  into  the 
pan  and  on  the  fire.  See?  And  light  the 
Annie- Maria  in  the  front  room  'fore  yeh 
go." 

"Good  Ggg.  But  if  I  got  to  set  all  these 
things,  what  about  it?" 

"What  about  what?" 

"Well,  you'll  'ave  to  make  a  noise  like 

money,  that's  all." 

114 


'Twinkletoes 


"Oh,  well."  He  dug  his  hand  in  his 
pocket,  and  scattered  a  mass  of  silver  over 
the  table.  "There  y'are.  And  I  'ope  we 
shall  enjoy  ourselves,  bless  yer  little  rasp- 
berry-tart." 

He  clasped  her  impulsively,  and  they 
danced  an  impromptu  waltz. 

"Good  old  ]3ot,"  she  cried,  hitching  a 
finger  at  her  garter  to  straighten  a  creased 
stocking.  "We'll  set  'em  alight.  We'll  daub 
the  ruby  on  Shantung  Place  to-night.  Who 
you  asking?" 

"Oh,  the  Prince  and  the  Dook  and  one  or 
two  others." 

"And  Chuck?" 

"Yes,  I'll  ask  'im." 

"Yes,  get  Chuck  along." 

"And  you'll  bring  oner  two  o'  your  gels,  I 
s'pose?" 

"I  dessay." 

"Then  you  better  get  some  chocolates  or 
sweets  or  something  for  'em.     Bye-bye.'* 

Twinkletoes  spent  the  morning  in  shop- 

115 


^wmkletoes 


ping,  and  Mrs.  Next-door  in  cleaning,  so  that 
by  evening  the  front  room  was  ready  for  the 
guests.  The  table  was  spread  with  a  clean 
cloth.  A  cluster  of  violets  stood  in  a  jam- 
jar at  the  centre.  A  bright  fire  was  burning 
and  on  the  plush-covered  sideboard  were 
bottles  that  promised  the  uplifting  of  the 
spirit.  The  front  room  was  comfortable, 
though  furnished  impulsively  and  with  a 
nice  disregard  for  schemes.  The  piano,  set 
diagonally,  occupied  one  corner.  On  the 
floor  in  other  corners  were  an  accordion,  a 
mandolin,  and  tattered  piles  of  music  and 
books.  A  couple  of  aspidistras  were  set  in 
the  window.  The  mantelshelf  and  walls 
were  decorated  with  framed  and  unframed 
photographs  of  Twinkletoes.  Wherever  you 
looked  you  sawheriTwinkletoes  as  a  toddler; 
Twinkletoes  in  silk  coat  and  lace  hat; 
Twinkletoes  in  her  indoor  frock  and  pina- 
fore, reading;  Tvrinkletoes  in  furs;  Twinkle- 
toes buried  in  brown  velvet;  Twinkletoes 
robed  only  in  a  towel;  Twinkletoes  as  a 

116 


T'winkletoes 


pantomime  fairy;  Twinkletoes  in  an  early 
Victorian  ballet;  Twinkletoes  as  Maud 
Allan;  Twinkletoes  in  white  silk  and  Scotch 
kilt ;  Twinkletoes  as  a  winter  spirit,  as  a  sum- 
mer spirit,  as  the  voice  of  Spring,  her  slim 
body  swathed  only  in  ropes  of  roses; 
Twinkletoes  in  studies  which  still  further 
accentuated  her  emphatic  legs ;  and  every  one 
shoA^ing  the  essential  Twinkletoes  posed  as 
for  flight,  resting  on  air.  Even  the  cameras 
of  Poplar  could  not  ignore  her  urgent  ap- 
peal. A  few  staid  etchings — her  own  buying 
— hung  here  and  there,  though  they  were 
killed  by  reproductions  of  pictures  of  other 
little  girls  bought  by  Dad.  He  detested 
boj'^s,  but  loved  all  little  girls:  each  was  to 
him  a  shadow  of  T^dnkletoes. 

At  half -past  eleven  she  arrived  from  the 
theatre  with  two  of  the  Quayside  girls.  Dad 
opened  the  door  to  them,  and  bolted  into 
the  kitchen,  leaving  them  to  close  it. 

*'I  kep'  me  promise,"  he  shouted.  "I've 
got  'em  on.    'Ear  'em  sizzling?" 

117 


T'winkletoes 


Twinkletoes  sniffed  voluptuously.  "Smells 
good,"  she  remarked,  as  they  flung  coats  and 
hats  on  a  chair  in  the  passage.  She  swept 
into  the  front  room,  and  £ound  the  gentlemen 
guests:  The  Pearly  Prince,  Dick  the  Duke, 
fat  little  Wallopy  and  Chuck  Lightfoot, 
smoking  cigarettes  and  talking  discursively. 
They  ended  abruptly  on  two  words  from 
Chuck:  "No  shop,  boys." 

"  'Ullo,  sweet  children!"  she  cried.  Then 
to  the  girls:  "All  the  lads  of  the  village." 
And  again  to  the  men:  "Two  of  my  rorty 
pals."  She  smiled  amiably  upon  them.  The 
Pearly  Prince  and  Dick  the  Duke  were 
uncles  to  her.  They  were,  she  understood, 
boxers,  as  indeed  they  were  when  nothing 
more  lucrative  presented  itself.  Wallopy  she 
knew  as  a  one-time  shopkeeper  who  had  been 
left  a  small  annuity  by  a  relative,  and  there- 
fore was  not  compelled  to  do  any  regular 
work. 

The  Prince,  who,  at  the  moment  they 
entered,  was  one  of  the  Poplar  boys,  did  his 

118 


^winkletoes 


quick-change  act  and  became  the  polished 
man  of  the  West  End  bars.  While  the  others 
remained  seated,  he  rose.  "Take  my  chair, 
kiddie,"  he  said  gracefully  to  the  nearest  of 
the  girls,  a  maid  of  thirteen  with  vivid  color- 
ing and  thick  curls  with  the  sheen  of  midnight 
water.    "Quayside  Kids,  I  think?" 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  with  a  blush  and  a 
giggle.  "And  I  know  you.  You're  the 
Pearly  Prince."  She  looked  up  at  him  in  shy 
adoration.  He  received  the  worship  gravely, 
but  the  sense  of  humor  that  had  carried  him 
through  many  tight  corners  awoke  in  a 
deprecatory  twinkle  in  his  eye. 

"Ah,"  he  said  in  a  tone  of  paternal  banter. 
"I'm  just  that.  But  I'm  afraid  I  haven't 
got  any  pearls  on  me.  If  I  had  I'd  put  'em 
round  your  pretty  neck." 

Little  Wallopy  inspected  the  two  visitors. 
"Quaysides,  eh?  Ah,  I  useter  dance  when 
I  was  younger.    But  now " 

"Yes,  now,"  said  the  slim  Prince.  "Now 
look  at  'em.  The  Elephants'  Gavotte.  Five- 

119 


^winkletoes 


foot  three,  and  sixteen  stone  if  he's  an  ounce. 
If  you'd  let  me  put  you  through  it  at  the 
medicine  ball,  now " 

"No  good.  Too  sudden.  No,  I  ought  to 
join  the  Quaysides.  Three  dances  a  night 
among  the  babies'd  get  me  down  to  normal, 
I  reckon.  Think  they'd  take  me  on,  kiddie? 
I  could  do  the  Russian  business  all  right. 
Lift  you  up  and  swirl  you  round  me  shoul- 
ders— what?" 

The  two  girls  exploded  into  handkerchiefs, 
and  then  Twinks  and  Dad  entered  with  an 
improbably  huge  dish  of  sausages,  pease 
pudding  and  mashed  potatoes. 

"You  and  Dad  ought  to  go  on  together, 
Wallopy,"  said  Twinkletoes.  "Simultane- 
ous comedians.  The  Brothers  Wallopy  with 
their  Floppety  Feet.  There's  money  in  it. 
You'd  be  making  a  noise  like  a  cash  register 
in  no  time." 

"Now,  come  on,"  cried  Dad.  "Here's  the 
Aws  Doov.  Sit  down,  boys  and  gels,  and 
do  things  to  'em."     They  arranged  them- 

120 


T^winkletoes 


selves  at  the  table  while  Wallopy  took  the 
bar  under  his  control. 

"Wine?    Wine?    Who's  on  wine?" 

He  planked  a  glass  of  Sauterne  before  the 
Prince's  shy  worshipper. 

"There  y'are,  dear.  Go  on — smile  for  the 
pretty  gentleman." 

"Oh,  don't,  Mr— Mr " 

"I'm  not  mister.  Do  I  look  as  if  I  were? 
'Ow  can  an  out-size  in  men  like  me  be  plain 
mister?  I  ask  you!  I'm  Wallopy.  Just 
Wallopy.  Go  on — say  it  after  me:  'Thank 
you,  Wallopy,  for  the  assiduous  manner  in 
which  you  have  catered  to  my  wants  in  the 
matter  of  liquid  refreshment.'    Go  on!" 

"Thank  you,  Wallopy,  for Oh,  shut 

up,  you  silly  old  fool."  And  again  she  de- 
livered a  cascade  of  giggles. 

"I  see  you  'smorning,  Uncle  Prince,"  cried 
Twinkletoes,  poising  a  piece  of  sausage  on  a 
fork  over  which  she  ogled  him.  "I  see  you. 
I  was  on  a  tram,  and  I  gave  you  a  booty  one 
on  two  fingers.    But  you  didn't  get  me.    You 

121 


T^zv'mkletoes 


was  going  into  the  Lantern.     Business,  I 
s'pose." 

"Yes,  it  was  business,"  said  the  Prince. 

"Ah,  I  know  that  business."  Wattlers  and 
Minesers.  Seen  'em  at  it.  Pease  pudden, 
Iris?    Spuds?    Shove  'em  along,  Chuck." 

"  'Ow's  the  whisky.  Pearly?"    asked  Dad. 

"Top-hole." 

"Ah,  I  thought  you'd  like  it.  A  drop  o' 
special.  Sammy  travels  in  it,  and  'e  slipped 
me  a  bottle." 

"Well,  get  him  to  slip  you  a  few  more, 
and  I'll  have  'em  off  you." 

"  'Ow's  the  sausages,  Wallopy?" 

"The  sausages,"  said  Wallopy,  threaten- 
ing the  giggling  Iris  with  a  dab  of  pease 
pudding,  "is  all  that  sausages  should  be. 
They're  like  me.  Not  much  from  the  outside 
but  packed  with  good  stuff  inside." 

"Well,  we've  made  that  dish  look  silly, 
ain't  we?    'Ave  a  bit  o'  cheese  now.     Come 
on.  Twinkle,  stir  yesself.    Cheese." 
When  the  cheese  had  disappeared  the  prec- 

122 


'Twmkletoes 


ious  Benedictine  was  produced  and  shared 
among  the  men.  Cigars,  too,  were  produced 
for  them,  and  a  box  of  Turkish  cigarettes 
for  the  girls. 

Wallopy's  smooth  lines  expressed  admira- 
tion. "Cigars.  Benny.  Turkish  cigarettes. 
Lor,  we  can  go  it,  cant  we?  Wish  I'd  got 
married  and  'ad  a  kid  on  the  stage.  Cigars 
and  Benny.  Just  by  'opping  about  and  keep- 
ing time  with  the  band." 

"Um,"  said  Twinkletoes.  "I'm  glad  I 
was  born  with  a  leg,  if  only  to  provide 
you  with  a  Benny  and  cigars.  The  new 
liquor — Crime  de  la  Leg.  When  you  drink 
that  Benny,  you  must  drink  to  my  legs.  It's 
all  a  matter  of  legs,  ain't  it,  kids?  When 
my  legs  begin  to  go,  then  there'll  be  an  end 
of  good  things.  All  comes  down  to  legs. 
Faces  am't  no  good.  Look  at  Iris — awfully 
jolly  to  look  at  when  she's  undressed,  but 
her  nose  ain't  right.  It's  crooked.  But  if 
you're  talking  of  legs  .  .  .  You  'ave  a  look 
at  *ers  when  she  gets  up." 

123 


T^winkletoes 


"Shut  up,  Twinks!"  spluttered  Iris,  her 
face  burning  with  discomfiture  at  this  dissec- 
tion of  her  person  before  the  aloof  Prince; 
for  where  Twinkletoes  was  fearlessly  inno- 
cent she  was  shamefully  innocent. 

"Well,"  said  Dad,  "I  felt  we  oughter  push 
a  boat  out  on  an  occasion  like  this.  'Tain't 
every  day  that  the  leader  of  the  Quayside 
Kids  'as  a  birthday.  'Tain't  every  day  that 
Twinkletoes  is  sixteen." 

"That's  so,"  said  Wallopy,  as  he  clambered 
up.  "Now,  boys  and  gels,  a  toast.  Twinkle- 
toes is  sixteen.  'Ere's  wishing  'er  all  she 
wishes  'erself,  and  if  she's  as  sweet  and  as 
happy  and  as  prosperous  at  sixty  as  she  is  at 
sixteen,  she  won't  'ave  nothing  to  grumble 
about,  eh?  From  the  start  she's  made,  we 
expect  great  things  of  her,  and  when  she's 
got  on  and  gorn  to  West  End  theatres,  with 
photos  in  all  the  papers,  and  a  motor  car  and 
a  country  'ouse  and  diamonds  and  what-not, 
and  forgotten  all  about  'er  old  friends  down 
'ere,  we  shall  still  be  proud  to  know  that  we 

124 


T^winkletoes 


knew  'er  when  she  was  starting,  and  that  we 
drank  to  her — and  'er  legs.  Boys — I  give 
you  Twinkletoes  and  'er  legs." 

The  company  rose;  and  five  of  London's 
smartest  lower-grade  criminals  solemnly  and 
sincerely  drank  to  the  health  and  success  of 
the  beautiful  child  of  their  colleague. 

Twinkletoes  giggled  and  kicked  her  legs 
in  response. 

"That  was  a  milky  one!"  she  cried,  finding 
no  suitable  words  to  express  what  she  felt. 
She  loved  these  friends  of  her  Dad's.  The 
warm  glow  of  their  humanity  and  good- 
fellowship  had  enriched  her  little  life  during 
the  last  four  years,  and  she  had  revelled  in 
them.  The  Pearly  Prince  was  the  high 
example  of  courtesy.  Wallopy  was  a  fat  old 
thing  with  whom  you  could  do  and  to  whom 
you  could  say  what  you  liked.  Dick  the 
Duke  was  a  taciturn,  rather  somber  indivi- 
dual, but  lit  with  gleams  of  humor;  and 
whenever  Twinkletoes  desired  to  flutter  a 
half-crown  on  a  horse,  it  was  to  Dick  that  she 

125 


T'winkletoes 


would  go,  and  he  always  gave  her  something 
that  came  home. 

"Come  on,  creatures,"  she  said,  rising  im- 
pulsively, "let's  get  these  things  out  and  be 
comfortable." 

Dad  and  the  three  girls  cleared  the  dishes 
and  table  to  the  kitchen ;  and  while  the  men 
smoked  and  sipped  their  drinks  Twinkletoes 
took  her  mandolin,  fluttering  with  radiant 
ribbons,  and  sat  on  the  sofa  with  her  com- 
panions and  made  music  for  the  light  voice 
of  Iris.  She  played  idly,  mechanically,  but 
Iris,  though  keeping  her  eyes  from  the 
Pearly  Prince,  sang  always  to  him;  and  she 
went  through  all  the  bubbly,  colored  melodies 
that  she  knew:  Dolce  Napoli,  Santa  Lucia, 
O  sole  Mio,  Monaco,  FunicuU-Funicula,  Sur 
les  Fonts  de  Paris  and  Siciliana. 

For  an  hour  they  held  talk  and  song ;  then 
the  Pearly  Prince  rose.  "Well,  better  be 
making  a  move,  I  suppose.  Had  a  jolly 
time,  Minasi,  thanks." 

"Oh,  glad  you've  enjoyed  yesself." 

126 


T'winkletoes 


"Not  going?"  asked  Twinkletoes. 

"Must.    Quite  time." 

"Well,  have  another  'fore  you  go?'* 

"No,  I  won't  have  another.  I  got  to  see 
a  man  of  business  at  my  rooms.  About  that 
fight  next  week." 

"Oh,  go  on.  One  won't  hurt  you.  'Ave 
a  short  snort  with  a  sport.  Else  I  shall  play 
rough-house  with  you." 

"No,  thanks." 

"Iris — you  ask  him." 

"Do  have  one,  Mr.  Prince.'* 

"Oh,  all  right.  You're  great  kids.  I'll 
have  one  to  your  bright  eyes.  And  Twinkle- 
toes'  legs.  And  I  hope  I  shall  be  invited  to 
your  next  birthday-party." 

"Oh  sure.  And  it'll  be  Champagne  next 
year,  I  hope.  You  never  know.  If  they 
want  to  renew  my  contract,  I  shall  stick  the 
price  up." 

"Good.  If  I  were  young  and  silly  enough 
I'd  marry  you  or  Iris.  But,  thank  God,  I 
got  more  sense." 

127 


liwinkletoes 


"Come  on,  Twinks,"  said  Dad.  "Get  yer 
'at  and  coat.  We  better  see  the  kids  'ome. 
It's  getting  late.  'Tany  rate  we'll  see  'em 
on  their  way." 

They  went  out  with  much  festive  clatter, 
and  parted  with  Wallopy,  the  Duke  and  the 
Prince  at  the  corner,  after  prolonged  crying 
of  farewells,  remembrances,  appreciations  of 
the  evening  and  "Don't  be  late  in  the  morn- 
mg! 

The  girls  were  left  at  their  respective 
streets,  and  Dad  and  Twinkletoes  were  re- 
turning to  Shantung  Place  when  they  saw  a 
black  fester  of  people  at  the  gates  of  the 
Galloping  Horses. 

Now  Dad,  being  a  man  of  simple  tastes, 
was  always  drawn  by  the  divine  simplicity 
of  a  street  fight.  It  acted  on  him  as  a  red 
rag  on  a  bull.  At  such  a  spectacle  his  eyes 
would,  light,  his  nostrils  quiver  and  his  feet 
dance  a  double-shuffle,  until,  unable  longer 
to  remain  neutral,  he  would  charge  in  and 
lend  a  hand  to  whichever  party  in  the  dispute 

128 


'Twinkletoes 


seemed  to  be  getting  the  more  punishment. 
In  two  shakes  of  a  guinea-pig's  tail — as  he 
would  have  figured  it — he  was  across  the 
road  with  Twinkletoes  in  pursuit. 

The  night  of  East  India  Dock  Road  does 
not  die  on  the  twelfth  stroke  of  the  clock. 
The  doors  of  the  taverns  may  be  bolted  and 
barred;  the  clanging  gates  of  the  corner 
hotels  may  be  hurled  into  their  sockets  at 
that  hour;  but  the  night  laps  well  over  the 
morning  to  the  extent  of  two  and  sometimes 
three  hours,  and  often  its  mournful  echoes 
will  disturb  the  dawn.  Impromptu  concerts 
are  given;  insults  grow  precociously  to 
blows ;  impromptu  vows  of  eternal  comrade- 
ship are  sworn ;  and  life-long  friendships  are 
shattered  in  a  space  of  moments. 

From  the  heart  of  the  crowd  came  a  lone 
cry  in  those  accents  that  carry  the  wail  of 
Western  Ireland: 

" Arr  now,  but  he  called  me  wife  a  porker." 

"No,  but  'e's  'pologised,"  protested  the 
crowd. 

129 


T^winkletoes 


The  Man  of  Seven  Sorrows  and  the  wail- 
ing voice  was  invisible,  but  it  was  evident 
from  his  articulation  that  he  was  engaged  in 
a  physical  contest. 

"Lemme  be,  will  ye  now,  lemme  be  I 
Lemme  get  to  him." 

" 'Old 'im  back,  there!" 

"We  can't  'old  'im  back  no  longer." 

The  loungers  parted  in  a  panic,  their  feet 
chattering  along  the  pavement  as  the 
struggler  broke  loose  from  the  restraining 
arms.  Old  Dad,  worming  his  way  to  the 
front,  obtained  a  clear  view  of  the  contes- 
tants: an  outraged  Irishman  and  a  little 
scraggy  man  who  was  too  patently  drunk  to 
be  worth  lighting.  A  dented  bowler  hat  was 
riding  on  his  left  ear.  He  swayed.  He 
looked  always  at  the  Irishman,  and  seemed 
struggling  to  repress  a  smile.  But  appar- 
ently the  thought  of  the  physical  proportions 
of  the  other  chap's  wife  was  too  appealing  to 
be  resisted. 

"Porker!"  he  murmured,  and  figured  the 

130 


^winkletoes 


word  to  the  crowd  with  extended  arms  as  of 
one  embracing  a  barrel. 

The  husband  was  alert,  sober  and  angry. 
His  friends  had  drawn  away  from  him.  It 
was  useless  to  hold  him  back.  Their  faces 
carried  the  weariness  and  despair  of  those 
who  have  failed  where  they  expected  to 
fail. 

The  drunk,  finding  himself  popular,  fixed 
a  banana  skin  in  his  buttonhole.  "Ta'  'ome 
to  missus,"  he  explained.  He  essayed  a 
graceful  dance.  He  asked  his  audience  how, 
while  not  wishing  to  be  offensive,  anyone 
could  describe  old  Flanagan's  wife  as  other 
than  a  por 

Then  he  sat  suddenly  down,  and  Twink'  ?- 
toes,  peering  under  shoulders  and  through 
chinks  in  the  crowd,  had  great  joy  of  her 
glimpses  of  the  comedy. 

From  one  of  the  lurking  alleys  came  a 
cold,  insistent  voice.  The  drunk  heard  it. 
Thoughtfully  he  began  to  unlace  his  boots. 
Through   the   chuckling   audience   came   a 

131 


T^winkletoes 


strenuous  figure,  hatless.  She  gathered  her 
intoxicated  man  by  the  collar  and  shook 
him. 

The  aggrieved  husband  moved  forward. 
"That's  right,"  he  said;  "take  him  away. 
He's  bin  insulting  me  wife,  he  has,  and  he 
can  think  himself  lucky  I  didn't  do  things  to 
him.  But  I  didn't.  'Cos  he's  drunk.  Quite 
drunk." 

Then  the  comedy  took  a  new  turn.  At 
the  word  "drunk"  the  little  man  broke  from 
his  wife's  clutch.  His  lips  parted  for  speech, 
but  none  came.  He  looked  around  to  dis- 
cover the  slanderer.  He  saw  the  Irishman 
standing  before  him.  He  staggered  forward 
and  struck  him  forcefully  on  the  mouth  with 
his  fist.  The  astonished  victim  stepped  back. 
He  put  his  hand  to  his  mouth. 

"All,  now,  ye  will  have  it  for  that!"  And 
they  closed. 

"Separate  *em!  Separate  'em!"  cried  those 
on  the  outer  ring,  crying  with  the  more  vigor 

since  their  position  ruled  them  out  as  possible 

132 


^winkletoes 


volunteers.  Many  windows  creaked  and 
opened.  Through  them  were  thrust  heads 
towzled  with  the  pillow  but  alight  with  in- 
terest. The  men  swayed  and  slithered  and 
swung.  When  the  wife  of  the  drunk  sailed 
in  to  hamper  her  husband's  burly  opponent 
she  was  put  out  bj'^  an  elbow  in  the  breast. 
She  staggered  with  it  to  the  crowd,  which 
echoed  her  gasp  in  little  ripples.  A  lamp 
on  an  opposite  corner  threw  a  half-hearted 
illumination.  Here  and  there  a  cigarette 
glowed  like  an  evil  eye. 

"Why  don'  someone  separate  'em?" 

"Who's  got  a  whistle?" 

"See  that?  Right  on  the  nose.  Look — 
'e's  biting  'is  'and." 

A  woman  wailed.  "Stop  'em,  cancher? 
Call  j'-esselves  men?  They're  killing  one 
another.  Eu!  'E's  banging  'is  'ead  on  the 
pavement.     Eu!     I  can't  look." 

Dad  moistened  his  hands.  He  looked 
round  for  Twinkletoes.  Said  Dad:  "Your 
little  pot-and-pan  is  about  fed  up  on  this. 

133 


Twiijkletoes 


You  stop  'ere,  old  Gawd-forbid,  and  don't 
you  dare  move.    Out  of  the  way,  there !" 

He  lifted  up  his  voice,  and  it  was  a  voice 
worth  lifting.  At  the  very  sound  of  his 
roared  command  those  in  front  dropped  back. 
"Stan'  away,  I  tell  yeh!" 

He  was  inside  the  ring.  His  sympathies 
went  at  once  to  the  drunk,  and  it  was  at  the 
Irishman's  collar  that  he  sprang.  He  got 
an  arm-lock,  and  drew  his  man  steadily  back. 
"Someone  keep  the  little  'un  off,"  he  com- 
manded. Two  or  three  made  a  dash  and 
secured  the  little  'un. 

Then  the  fight  ended.  The  banana  skin, 
hanging  loosely  from  the  little  'un's  button- 
hole, dropped  to  the  ground.  Straining 
backward,  Dad  dug  his  heels  into  the  wooden 
roadway  for  a  purchase.  At  the  third  step 
he  struck  the  banana  skin,  slipped,  and  fell, 
and  remained  prone  and  motionless,  eyes 
closed. 

Twinkletoes  gave  a  little  scream  and  rolled 
her  hands  in  her  frock.     She  tried  to  get  to 

134 


T'winkletoes 


Dad,  but  the  crowd  was  winding  into  itself. 
Oh,  Dad!  He  was  hurt — perhaps  killed. 
And  this  was  her  birthday.  Why  had  she 
let  him  do  it?  Why  hadn't  she  pulled  him 
away? 

The  audience  hummed.  Women  gave  little 
gasps  and  turned  away.  Those  at  the  back, 
who  could  not  see,  said:  "Police!"  "Doctor!" 
Those  nearest,  after  a  satisfying  stare,  turned 
away,  or  approached  fearfully  and  retreated 
fearfully.  A  woman's  voice  from  an  upper 
window  cried:  "Whassup?"  and  this  gave  an 
opportunity  to  some  to  escape  decently. 
They  went  to  her.  Five  different  voices 
grated  harshly  on  the  night,  crj^ing  five 
different  versions.  She  was  a  strong  woman, 
but,  being  half  asleep,  she  made  no  attempt 
to  follow  the  plots  of  five  involved  romances, 
and  the  window  went  down  with  the  rickety 
rattle. 

"Well,  that's  all  over,"  said  the  usual 
philosopher.  "  'E's  gorn.  Standing  and 
staring  won't  bring  'im  back,  will  it?    But 

135 


'Tzvinkletoes 


'e's  a  blasted  'ero.  That's  what  'e  is.  And 
a  damn  fool." 

The  two  opponents  forgot  their  quarrel. 
The  drunk  grabbed  his  wife's  arm,  the  Irish- 
man took  his  other  arm,  and  they  disap- 
peared in  amity,  all  differences  wiped  out  by 
the  new  tragedy. 

At  last  the  crowd  had  thinned  sufficiently 
to  enable  Twinkletoes  to  wriggle  through. 
She  dashed  into  the  ring  towards  the  pros- 
trate and  lifeless  Dad,  but,  as  she  pounced 
upon  him,  he  made  one  swift  movement  and 
was  on  his  feet.  He  shook  himself  and 
looked  with  a  grin  at  Twinkletoes,  white, 
trembling  and  fearful. 

"That's  that,"  he  said. 

"Oh,  Dad,  I  thought  you  was  'urt.  I 
thought  you  was  killed." 

"Me  'urt?  Garn.  Take  a  lot  o'  that  to 
'urt  m.e." 

"Then  you're  all  right?" 

"Absolutely." 

Her  face  broke  into  ripples  of  laughter  as 

136 


^winkletoes 


he  toddled  away  at  her  side.  "I  done  it 
apurpose,"  he  went  on.  "Y'see,  they  was 
getting  bad-tempered  like,  and  might  do  one 
another  a  injury.  And  I  couldn't  'ave  'eld 
that  Irish  bloke  back  fer  long.  So  when  I 
slipped  I  thought  I'd  stay  down  an'  give  'em 
a  shock.  Soon's  anyone's  'urt,  y'know,  a 
fight  alwis  stops.    You'll  notice  that." 

Twinkletoes  gurgled  and  looked  up  at  him. 
"Oo,  Dad.  I've  alwis  said  you  was  wonder- 
ful, and  blimey,  j'^ou  are.  You're  the  fair 
top-liner.  Oo,  I  am  glad.  I  made  sure  you 
was  'urt.  .  .  .  What  a  birthday!  Your 
present  was  good,  and  the  supper  was  fine, 
and  the  boys  were  all  jolly;  but  this  little 
crush  'as  put  the  lid  on  everything.  Grand 
finale  with  augmented  orchestra.  I  believe 
you  arranged  it  specially,  'cos  it  was  my 
birthday.    Did  you?" 

Dad  chuckled  non-committallv. 

"You  reely  are  a  marvellous  old  man." 

"Well,  kid,  I  on'y  'ope  every  other  birth- 
day'11  be  as  jolly,  and  that  you'll  enjoy  'em 

137 


T'winkletoes 


when  you're  seventy  as  much  as  you  'ave  this 


one." 


"Me  too.     Oo — ain't  people  and  things 
lovelyT 


138 


VII 

THE  Blue  Lantern  bar  was  happy :  all 
its  friends  were  there — that  little  band 
of  pilgrims  that  lived  in  the  East  and 
worshipped  in  the  West.  Its  doors  flapped 
back  and  forth,  emitting  great  gasps  of  festal 
noise.  The  Pearly  Prince  was  there,  tall  and 
vibrant,  resplendent  in  blue  serge.  Dick  the 
Duke  was  there,  in  a  suit  of  noisy  grey,  with 
rings  and  chains  about  his  person.  L/ittle 
Wallopy  was  there,  in  a  fawn  coat  and  Robin 
Redbreast  waistcoat,  and  Chuck  Lightfoot, 
quiet  and  neat,  a  muffler  about  his  throat. 
The  indecently  ragged  Hank  crouched  in  his 
accustomed  corner. 

When  Divisional  Detective-Inspector 
Territon  entered  in  mufti,  with  an  air  of 
careful  detachment,  he  was  greeted  with  non- 
committal nods. 

"AVanting  me?"  asked  the  Prince. 

"Not  yet,  me  boy.  But  I'll  plant  a  few 
commas  in  your  story  'fore  long,  if  not  a  full 
stop." 

139 


'T'winkletoes 


"Ah,  we'll  see  about  that." 

Territon  ordered  a  beer  and  placed  him- 
self next  Hank  Hogan. 

"Well,  how's  thmgs,  Hank?"  he  asked, 
with  superior  familiarity. 

"Oh,  mustn't  grumble." 

"Have  one?" 

"I  don'  mind.    Same  again." 

Dickery-Dock  came  forward  with  elephan- 
tine obsequiousness  at  sight  of  Territon  and 
served  the  drinks.  He  and  the  crowd  looked 
askance  at  one  another,  speculating  as  to  the 
cause  of  this  visit. 

"Went  up  to  the  Quayside,"  Territon 
A^olunteered,  "last  night.  T'see  that  kid  of 
Minasi's.    Twinkletoes,  don't  they  call  her?" 

"Ar." 

"Fine  kid.  Wonderful  kid.  Minasi's  a 
great  chap  too." 

"Ar." 

"Great  chap.  How's  he  doing  now?  Do- 
ing well,  ain't  he?" 

"I  dunno.    I  see  'im  in  'ere  sometimes." 

140 


T^winkletoes 


"He  ought  to  be  doing  well.  What  with 
the  business  and  what  that  kid  of  his  makes. 
She's  a  marvel.  Fair  marvel.  What'd  you 
reckon  he  makes  ?" 

"Couldn't  tell  yeh.  I  know  I  ain't  making 
anything.  If  it  wasn't  for  me  Old  Age  Pen- 
sion I'd  be  in  a  fair  old  mess-up." 

"M'm.  Pity.  But  you've  had  a  good  run, 
eh?" 

"Ar." 

"Will  Minasi  be  in  here  to-night?  I  want 
to  see  him  rather  special." 

"Dunno." 

Territon  inspected  Hank,  and  Hank  re- 
ceived the  scrutiny  without  a  flicker. 
"Hank,"  he  said  at  length,  "you  know  every- 
thing what  goes  on.  Do  you  know  anything 
about  his  die-stamping  business?" 

"Nothing." 

"Have  you  ever  wondered  why  he  does  so 
well?" 

"  'Tain't  none  of  my  biz  to  wonder  about 
other  people's.  I'm  wondering  aboutmeown." 

141 


^winkletoes 


"Well,  I  tell  you  straight.  I  got  the  wire 
about  him  yesterday.  I've  had  the  office. 
Never  mind  how.  Now  where  I'm  a  bit  un- 
certain  "     He  paused,  fearing  he  had 

said  too  much. 

Hank  said  "Ar"  impressively.  "Seems  to 
me,"  he  went  on,  "that  yer  wasting  yer  beer 
and  j^er  time.  What  th'ell  d'yeh  think  I 
know  about  Minasi  ?  I  ain't  a  blasted  nark, 
ami?" 

"No,  but  ...  I  like  Minasi.  And  I 
thought  you  might  have  heard." 

Hank's  face  took  the  tinge  of  his  hair. 
His  voice  rose  to  an  indignant  squeak.  "An' 
if  I  'ad?  Eh!  An'  if  I  'ad?  If  you  want 
a  blasted  nark,  don't  come  to  me,  guv'nor. 
See?  Don't  come  to  me.  If  yeh  wants  lies, 
I'll  tell  yeh  plenty.  A  dozen  t'every  'alf-pint. 
But  that's  all  I  can  tell  yeh  about  Minasi. 
'Cos  I  don't  know  nothing.  See?"  He 
turned  his  back  on  him  and  impolitely 
ignored  him. 

Territon  grinned  ruefully,  yet  apprecia- 

142 


l^winkletoes 


tively.  "You're  a  deep  'un,  Hank.  Deep 
as  thejr  make  'em.  I  suppose  I  sha'n't  never 
get  you.  But  I  got  Minasi  all  right.  Any 
time  now.  And  I'll  have  the  Prince  and  the 
Dook  'fore  they're  much  older.  I  give  yeh 
my  word.  I'll  hand  them  theirs,  sure 
enough." 

He  drank  up  and  went  away,  followed  by 
contemptuous  stares. 

"Every  time  I  see  that  bloke,"  said  the 
Pearly  Prince,  "I  get  the  fidgets  in  me  boot. 
Some  day  I  sha'n't  be  able  to  resist  it." 

"Old  'Ank  told  'im  orf  all  right,"  said  the 
Duke.    "What  was  'e  on,  'Ank?" 

"Oh,  I  d'no.  Some  guff  about  a  girl — 
one  of  the  hop- joint  girls  and  flapdoodle  of 
that  sort." 

"Oh.  Thought  it  might  'ave  been  on  our 
lay." 

"Oh  no,"  said  Hank.    "No." 

Hank  had  gained  high  reputation  in  the 
Lantern  district  where  reputations  are 
achieved  with  difficulty.    He  was  held  to  be 

143 


l^winkletoes 


as  moral  as  a  tom-cat,  the  pink  of  impro- 
priety. He  carefully  nourished  this  legend 
of  an  oblique  career;  it  brought  drinks;  and 
he  went  about  crying  through  his  manner: 
"I'm  a  bad  man,  that's  what  I  am.  I'm  a  bad 
man."  Only  he  and  a  few  chosen  friends 
knew  that  the  legend  was  spurious.  He  had 
done  nothing  more  daring  than  a  little 
pocket-picking  in  his  youth.  He  was  one  of 
the  sweetest,  kindest  and  most  faithful  of 
comrades :  the  confidant  of  the  district.  His 
headquarters  was  the  Lantern,  and  thither 
men  would  go  when  troubles  beset  them. 

Far  behind  him  was  a  story.  In  his  youth 
he  had  met  a  girl  connected  with  one  of  the 
thousand  religious  missions  that  infest  the 
Limehouse  ways.  He  developed  a  passion 
for  the  Word,  but  his  yearning  for  the 
intangible  glories  of  the  life  to  come  had  its 
foundation  in  something  very  near  to  this 
world.  He  worshipped  this  mission-girl; 
and  she,  finding  that  he  only  attended  meet- 
ings when  she  was  there,  and  only  listened 

144 


T^winkletoes 


to  the  Word  as  preached  or  sung  by  herself, 
came  regularly  to  preach  and  to  sing  and  to 
expound  privately  to  him  the  mysteries  and 
wonders  of  the  faith  she  held.  To  her  he 
listened.  He  sat  at  her  feet  and  believed 
everything,  simply  because  she  said  that  it 
was  so.  About  the  streets  he  would  follow 
her,  never  approaching  within  uncomfortable 
distance,  but  hanging,  as  it  were,  about  her, 
that  he  might,  if  ever  the  need  arose,  be  there 
to  succor  her. 

When  she  was  prevented,  by  slight  illness 
or  other  preoccupation,  from  attending  the 
mission,  he  returned  to  the  Lantern;  and 
she  quickly  saw  that  if  one  soul  had  been 
snatched  from  the  pestilence,  it  was  she  and 
she  alone  who  could  retain  it. 

One  night,  when  she  had  been  absent  from 
three  meetings,  she  met  him  staggering  from 
the  Lantern ;  and  she  stopped  him,  and  gave 
him  a  look  such  as  he  had  never  seen  on  any 
face  before.  Late  that  night  he  went  to  her, 
at  the  headquarters  of  the  Crusade,  and  he 

145 


T^winkletoes 


knelt  at  her  feet  in  misery,  and  prayed  for- 
giveness, touching  with  shy  finger-tips  her 
proffered  hand,  and  kissing  the  border  of  her 
skirt. 

Then  she  found  that,  having  given  so  much 
of  herself,  she  must  give  more.  She  found 
that,  like  all  humans,  she  was  more  drawn  to 
love  someone  she  had  helped  than  someone 
who  had  helped  her.  The  beautifying  of  his 
heart  was  her  work;  without  her  it  would 
again  become  dulled  and  tarnished.  So  when 
he  next  came  to  her,  humble  and  tragic  and 
ridiculous,  she  married  him. 

He  reached  his  heaven.  He  went  away 
from  the  mission  hall  rapturously  forswear- 
ing all  the  dear  old  dirty  days.  Away  went 
the  lamp  and  the  pipe,  away  went  the  bottle 
and  the  glass,  and  contemptuous  feet 
stamped  splendidly  away  from  such  places 
as  the  Lantern.  For  a  year  he  remained  with 
his  Jesus  woman  in  paradise.  Then  a  child 
was  born.  The  child  was  born  dead;  the 
mother  died  three  days  later. 

146 


T'winkletoes 


He  tore  up  Bible  and  Prayer  Book,  and 
smashed  the  harmonium  with  a  hatchet.  And 
he  flung  through  the  doors  of  the  Lantern, 
which  snapped  happily  behind  him,  and 
hammered  on  the  bar,  shouting:  "Double 
gin!  Double  gin!  And  bloody  quick  about 
it.    Yers  since  I  'ad  one." 

Later,  he  rolled  out  and  crawled  to  the 
cottage  now  empty  of  delight ;  and  as  he  had 
gone  home  that  night  so  he  went  home  every 
night  that  followed. 

When  he  had  inverted  his  tankard,  he 
looked  at  Chuck.  Chuck  came  across  and 
had  it  replenished. 

"Well,  lad,  'ow  is  it?" 

"Oh,  fair,"  said  Chuck. 

"You're  looking  better.  Does  it  'urt  as 
much?" 

"Oh,  hell.    Don't  ask." 

"Ar.  .  .  .  B)^  the  way,  that  wasn't  'alf  a 
doing  5^ou  gave  young  Perce." 

"Oh.    You  'ear  about  it. 

"Ar." 

147 


Twinkletoes 


"Course,  you  'ear  everything." 

"Yerss.  I  'eard  about  it.  I  'ear  a  lot, 
as  you  say.  Everything,  nearly.  Chuck, 
Territon  wasn't  'ere  for  nothing  to-night." 

"No?" 

"No.    Chuck,  take  a  'oliday." 

"Whaffor?" 

"Take  a  'oliday.  And  Minasi  too.  Both 
of  yeh." 

"Whaffor?"  • 

"Don't  keep  saying  'Whaffor.'  Know  me, 
don't  yeh?  Well,  then,  I  says:  Take  a 
'oliday.  And  I  says  Territon,  too.  And  I 
says  Snide.    Where's  Minasi?" 

"Down  at  the  Works,  I  think." 

"Ar.  Well,  you  better  go  down  there. 
Quick.  And  see  'im.  Don't  talk  too  much. 
The  Prince  and  the  Dook  and  Wallopy  can 
fix  their  lie-up  all  right.  But  go  and  see 
Minasi.  And  just  say  to  him  what  I  told 
yeh.    'Olidays.    Territon.    Snide." 

"Hank,  you're  smart.  I  didn't  get  you  at 
first.    What  chance  we  got?" 

148 


T^wznkletoes 


"Any  amount.     'E  don't  know  nothing. 
'E's  on'y  guessing.    Tried  to  suck  me.    E'll 
be  using  me  for  a  rubber  stamp  next." 
Chuck  became  suddenly  emphatic : 
"Christ.    If  it  should  get  about.    If  it  was 

to  come  off.    If  Twinkletoes My  God! 

I  don't  mind.    I'll  take  what's  coming  to  me. 

But  if  she Christ.    'Sail  right,  though. 

I'll  fix  that,  some'ow.  Whatever  'appens, 
she'll  never  'ear  of  it.  There's  plenty  of 
ways.    I'll  slip  along  to  the  Works.    S'long." 


149 


VIII 

To  Twinkletoes  in  the  dressing-room  of 
the  Quayside  came  the  girl  Lilac. 
She  stood  over  Twinkletoes'  chair, 
one  shoulder  listed  scornfully. 

"Huh!"  she  grunted. 

"What's  the  matter?" 

"Huh!  'My  Dad's  one  of  the  finest  men 
in  the  world.  My  Dad's  clean  all  through. 
My  Dad's  never  done  anything  dirty.  My 
Dad's  the  straightest  man  that  ever  lived.' 
Huh!" 

"What  you  talking  about?" 

"You  and  your  glorious,  marvelous  old 
Dad." 

Twinkletoes  turned  upon  Lilac,  a  little 
spark  of  anger  appearing  in  her  eyes,  as  it 
always  did  when  anyone  ridiculed  or  aspersed 
the  old  Dad.  "Well,  what  about  it?"  She 
noticed  that  the  other  girls  were  watching 
and  grinning  mischievously.  Their  happy 
faces  were  deformed  by  a  mixture  of  spite 
and  amusement. 

150 


^winkletoes 


"Cuh!  Your  Dad  never  done  anything 
dirty!" 

"Lilac,  what  d'j^ou  mean?  Talking  like 
that.    Nor  'e  'asn't.    What's  up  with  you?" 

"Stow  it,  T winks.  Don't  make  out  you 
don't  know.  Everj^bodj'^  knows  about  it.  I 
heard  it  'smorning.    We  all  know  about  it." 

Twinkletoes  stood  up.  Her  face  was 
alabaster.  Her  lips  were  twisted.  "Know 
about  what?" 

"Why,  about  your  Dad.  About  his  tricks. 
What  he  is." 

"Tricks?  Tricks?  Lilac — you  trying  to 
make  a  row?" 

"Don't  be  silly,  Twinks.  No.  Only  don't 
go  swanking  any  more.  Because  we  know. 
We  like  you,  Twinks,  awfully,  but  we  can't 
stand  your  swank  about  yowx  Dad.  Not  any 
more.  Seeing  M'hat  your  Dad  is  and  has 
been  for  years." 

"Oh.  And  what  is  he?"  She  trembled  a 
little. 

"Why,  everybody  knows  what  he  is.    He's 

151 


'T'zmnkletoes 


a  forger.  He  makes  bad  notes  at  these 
Works  of  his.  And  he's  going  to  be  locked 
up  soon." 

Twinkletoes  dropped  back  to  the  ledge 
which  served  as  dressing-table.  Her  hands 
gripped  its  edge.  She  stared  at  Lilac. 
Exploding  giggles  drew  her  eyes  to  the  other 
girls.  She  looked  from  one  to  the  other, 
then  back  to  Lilac.  Her  breath  came 
awkwardly.  Three  times  she  opened  her 
mouth  to  speak,  but  said  nothing.  She 
seemed  as  one  suffering  strangulation.  This 
was,  she  argued,  a  joke.  Should  she  take  it 
as  a  joke,  or  regard  it  as  an  insulting  joke? 
Or  was  it  a  deliberate  and  arranged  assault 
on  her  leadership?  She  decided  to  treat  it 
cursorily. 

"Don't  be  a  fool,  Lilac.  You'll  get  yesself 
into  trouble  some  day — spreading  lies  about 
people  like  that." 

A  scream  of  laughter  followed  the  remark. 
She  looked  round,  first,  threateningly;  then 
smiled  in  an  effort  to  placate  them. 

152 


T!winkletoes 


"Look  'ere — what's  all  this  about?  Who 
put  this  up?  If  you  can't  think  of  a  better 
guff  that  this,  try  again." 

Lilac  seemed  a  little  abashed.  She  glanced 
at  her  companions. 

"T winks — do  you  honestly  mean  to  stand 
there  and  tell  us  you  don't  know?" 

"Of  course  I  don't  know  rubbish  like  that 

-silly." 

Lilac,  in  petticoat  and  stockings,  thrust 
her  head  earnestly  forward  and  clasped  her 
hands.    She  was  very  serious. 

"Twinkletoes — it's  true\  True  as  I  stand 
here.  True  as  God's  in  heaven.  Everybody 
knows  it." 

"Yes,"  shrieked  the  children,  "we  all  know 
it.  Your  Dad's  a  forger!  Your  Dad's  a 
forger!"  they  chanted  to  an  impromptu  air. 
The  younger  ones  joined  hands  and  danced 
round  her.  "Your  Dad's  a  forger!  Your 
Dad's  a  for — ger!  He'll  be  locked  up  in 
pri — son!  He'll  be  locked  up  in  pri — son!" 
while  Lilac  cried :  "Stop  it,  kids !    Shut  up !" 

153 


liwinkletoes 


Slowly,  ver}'-  slowly,  Twinkletoes  realized 
that  something  had  happened.  Her  eyes 
bulged.  Her  head  drooped.  The  separate 
golden  curls  were  mournfully  pendulous. 
Then  her  temper  reached  its  flash-point.  She 
sprang  away  from  the  dressing-slab. 

"Liars!  Liars!  Liars!"  she  screamed. 
"Liars — the  whole  lot  of  you!  Suffering 
Jesus,  I'll  smash  you  for  that.     I'll  smash 

you!" 

A  chair  fell  with  a  mild  thud  as  she  thrust 
an  arm  full  at  the  concerned  face  of  Lilac. 
A  hair-brush  spun  into  the  grinning  group. 
Shoes  and  boots  went  at  them.  She  became 
maniac;  a  livid  little  creature  bent  on 
destroying  these  foul  things  that  had  touched 
with  their  dirty  tongues  her  splendid  Dad. 
The  youngest  drew  back,  afraid  not  so  much 
of  her  blows  as  of  this  storm  that  they  had 
aroused.  She  swept  across  the  floor  after 
them,  pummelling  here,  tearing  there,  shak- 
ing others,  throwing  the  whole  weight  and 
fire  of  her  body  into  this  righteous  crusade. 

154 


l^winkletoes 


Only  when  Lilac  and  two  of  the  biggest 
girls  had  gripped  her  and  thrown  her  to  the 
ground  did  the  fury  cease.  She  lay  limp, 
sobbing  dry  sobs. 

"Cads!  Cads!  Cads!"  she  gasped.  "If 
my  Dad  was  here.  .  .  .  Liars!  Cads! 
Lemme  get  up." 

Lilac,  shamefaced,  helped  her  up. 

"Twinks — don't  be  so  silly.  It  is  true. 
Ask  anybody.  Ask  Hank  Hogan,  that  old 
beast  that's  always  in  the  Blue  Lantern.  Ask 
JNIrs.  Lightf oot — her  husband  works  for  your 
Dad  and  gets  the  notes  round.  Ask  Rose- 
leaf.  Ask  Inspector  Territon.  He  lives  in 
our  street,  and  told  my  Dad.  They're  all 
going  to  be  arrested.  Ask  anybody.  Every- 
body knows. 

"We're  all  sorry,  Twinks  dear,  but  we 
thought  you  knew,  and  we  got  wild  because 
you  were  always  talking  that  way.  We 
thought  it  was  swank.  It  isn't  your  fault. 
We're  not  blaming  you.  You'll  always  be 
the  same  to  us,  whatever  happens. 

155 


"-Twinkletoes 


"Here — come  on — quick,  or  you  won't  be 
ready  to  go  on." 

Twinkletoes  suffered  herself  to  be  led  to 
her  chair,  and  sat  staring  into  the  mirror  at 
the  curious  figure  who  used  to  be  Twinkle- 
toes,  and  now  was  .  .  .  ?  They  were  so 
serious  about  it.  Yet  it  must  be  wrong. 
There  was  a  mistake.  Her  Dad — her  old 
pot-and-pan — doing  things  like  that.  It 
wasn't  possible.  Things  didn't  happen  like 
that.  It  was  surely  some  other  man  they'd 
got  mixed  up  about.  But  they  were  so  cer- 
tain. The  pulses  hammered  into  her  brain 
one  sing-song  phrase:  Suppose  it's  true! 
Suppose  ifs  true!  "Everybody  knows.  .  .  . 
Ask  Hank  Hogan.  .  .  .  Ask  Inspector 
Territon.  .  .  .  Ask  Mrs.  Lightfoot." 

The  Ma  of  the  troupe  bustled  in.  "All 
ready,  girls?  Now  then,  Minasi,  hurry  up. 
You're  always  late.  Hurry  up,  I  said. 
What's  the  matter?" 

The  girls  stood  around  in  a  disturbed 
bunch. 

156 


l^winkletoes 


"It's  her  father,  Ma." 

"Well,  what  about 'im?" 

"He's  going  to  be  locked  up." 

"Well,  well,  and  if  'e  is.  'E's  not  the  only 
one  that's  been  locked  up.  Come,  Minasi. 
It's  a  bit  awkward  like,  but  there's  no  need 
to  make  all  this  fuss." 

"Oh,  lemme  alone.     Lemme  alone!"  she 

wailed.     "I  wish  I  was  dead.     I  wish 

Oh,  it  ain't  true.  It  can't  be.  I'm  going  to 
see." 

"Minasi — you  stop  here."  But  in  a  streak 
of  brown  she  was  gone  through  the  door  and 
down  the  stairs. 

Her  first  thought  was  to  go  to  Dad,  but 
that,  she  felt,  was  impossible.  If  it  wasn't 
true,  it  would  be  a  dirty  thing  to  let  him 
think  she  even  allowed  the  story  to  worry 
her  for  a  moment.  If  it  were  true,  it  would 
be  too  horrible  to  see  him.  As  she  ran,  she 
mumbled:  "Oh,  Dad,  Dad!" 

She  thought  of  Chuck  Lightfoot,  of  In- 
spector Territon,  of  Hank  Hogan.      She 

157 


^winkletoes 


fixed  on  Hank.  She  knew  him;  he  had  been 
sometimes  to  the  house,  and,  although  he  was 
dirty,  he  was  always  nice  and  kind.  On  the 
corner  where  stands  the  Blue  Lantern  she 
found  him.  Funds  had  run  out ;  the  Lantern 
bar  was  empty;  and  he  was  searching  the 
streetscape  with  his  keen  eyes  for  a  friend 
who  should  be  safe  for  "one." 

Hatless,  panting,  dishevelled,  she  stumbled 
against  him. 

"Oh,  'Ank,  'Ank,  it  ain't  true,  is  it?  What 
everybody's  saying  'bout  my  Dad?" 

Hank  started  momentarily,  then  chewed 
steadily  on  his  quid  of  plug.  "  'Bout  yer 
Dad?  Why,  Twinks,  whassup?  Knocking 
a  por  old  man  down  like  that.  What  ain't 
true?" 

"What  they're  saying!" 

"What're  they  saying?  I  can't  answer 
'alf-a-dozen  questions  at  once  with  all  the 
breath  knocked  out  o'  me.  One  at  a  time, 
and  put  'em  plainly."  But  his  face  was 
troubled.     The  fury  of  her  questions  per- 

'  158 


^winkletoes 


plexed  him.  His  manner  expressed  a  desii'e 
to  find  some  means  of  getting  rid  of  Twinkle- 
toes.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  found 
that  being  a  fount  of  local  information  was 
a  nuisance. 

"  'Bout  Dad  forging  notes.  And  going  to 
be  locked  up.    Oh,  it  ain't  true?" 

Hank  looked  up  the  street;  then  at 
Twinkletoes.  He  became  at  once  shy  and 
awkwardly  demonstrative. 

"Why,  there  now,  fancy  asking  me  a  thing 
like  that.    'Ow  d'you  think  I  sh'd  know  ?" 

"Oh,  don't.  You  do  know.  You  know 
everything  'bout  these  things.  They  said 
Inspector  Territon  told  someone  'e  was  go- 
ing to  arrest  Dad  'fore  long.  What  d'you 
know,  'Ank?     Tell  me.     TeU  me." 

"Why — can't  say  I  know  nothing  'bout 
it.  Best  man  fer  you  t'ask  is — is — yer  Dad. 
Or  Territon.  Or  someone  who's  in  it.  I 
couldn't  tell  yeh."  He  looked  away.  "Ar 
— there's  a  pal  o'  mine  over  there  I  want  to 
see  partic'lar."     He  pulled  his  coat  about 

159 


Twinkletoes 


him.    "I'll  pop  across,  kiddie.    So  long." 

He  turned  and  looked  down  at  her.  He 
noted  the  dumb  agony  in  her  face,  and  his 
wild  red  hair,  filthy  clothes  and  tender  man- 
ner gave  him  the  appearance  of  a  caricatured 
angel  pronouncing  a  benediction.  He  placed 
a  hand  on  her  shoulder,  and  lifted  one  of  the 
curls.  "Brace  up,  kiddie."  He  slid  across 
the  road,  and  she  knew  from  what  she  had 
seen  in  his  face  that  it  was  true. 

Her  god  had  fallen. 

With  sick,  faltering  steps  she  moved  away, 
going,  for  no  reason,  back  to  the  Quayside, 
moaning  "Dad !"  at  every  pace.  In  the  stage 
door  passage  she  met  Markie  Koseleaf .  He 
stood  away  from  her,  his  hands  in  the  pockets 
of  his  greasy  dress  suit,  the  stricken  animal 
moving  even  a  theatrical  manager  to  silence 
and  wonderment. 

"Por  kid,"  he  said,  with  insufferable  kind- 
ness. "For  kid,"  and  stopped  her  as  she 
blundered  to  the  stairs.     "  'Sail  right,  kid. 

160 


H'winkletoes 


You  needn't  work  to-night.  They're  nearly 
on.  I  know  all  about  it.  Por  li'l  gel.  Ain't 
there  nothing  we  can  do?" 

"No.  No.  I  don'  want  nothing." 
"I'm  so  sorry.  We  all  are.  All  of  us. 
Honest,  we  are.  Really.  No  codding.  'Ere, 
brace  up,  kiddie.  Look  up.  Wish  I  could 
do  something  for  yeh."  He  seemed  at  a  loss. 
"It  give  me  a  bit  of  a  jar  when  it  was  told 
me.  Never  suspected  it.  Known  yer  old 
Dad  fer  years  and — never  dreamt  of  any- 
thing like  this.  Never  dreamt  of  it.  There 
— i*un  up  and  see  the  gels,  when  they're  orf. 
They're  sorry  they  chipped  you.  Told  me  so. 
All  of  'em.  'Orrible  busines.  Specially  for 
fine  kid  like  you.  Awfully  sorry.  I  am, 
reely." 

Twinkletoes  lagged  up  the  stairs  to  the 
Kids'  dressing-room,  and  fell  into  her  chair. 
She  rested  her  arms  on  the  slab  and  drooped. 
Her  little  body  shook  with  sharp,  cold  sobs. 
No  tears  came:  onl}^  a  sickness  inside  that 
seemed  to  tear  and  gnaw  her. 

161 


^winkletoes 


When  the  kids  were  off  they  came  upstairs 
quietly,  not  in  the  usual  pell-mell  scramble. 
So  swift,  so  complete  was  the  metamorphosis 
from  the  joyous,  blasphemous,  adorable  child 
who  had  led  them,  into  the  white,  whipped, 
soulless  bundle  before  them  that  they  were 
hushed  in  her  presence. 

Lilac,  very  penitent,  touched  her  shoulder. 

"T winks,  T winks — forgive  us.  We're  all 
sorry.  We  didn't  know  the  way  you  felt 
about  it.    Will  you  forgive  us  ?" 

"Oh,  'sail  right.  It  don'  matter.  I  don' 
mind  'bout  that." 

"You  forgive  us,  then?" 

"Um." 

"T winks,  don't  brood  like  that.  Don't 
take  it  that  way.  You'll  be  ill.  Twinks — 
lift  up." 

"Oh,  don't,  don't,"  she  moaned.  "Lemme 
alone."    She  shook  herself. 

"No,  Twinks.  Twinks  dear,  don't  go  on 
like  this." 

Anomalous  noises  came  from  the  buried 

162 


l^winkletoes 


face.     She  writhed  as  one  eluding  flames  or 
blades. 

"Oh,  God.    Oh,  Dad.    Oh,  go 'way." 

Then,  with  a  rush  of  hideous  sobs,  the  tears 
came,  bitter  tears  and  full  sobs  that  seemed 
to  scorch  the  eyes  and  wrench  the  small 
throat.  She  was  no  longer  a  little  girl,  but 
a  tortured  organism. 

The  others,  neglecting  washing  and  chang- 
ing, stood  back,  uncertain  whether  the  final 
outburst  meant  a  fainting  fit  or  the  last 
paroxysm  before  death.  The  younger  ones 
watched,  morbidly  fascinated  by  the  spec- 
tacle of  abandoned  agony.  Some  suggested 
fetching  Ma.  Others  were  for  fetching  Rose- 
leaf.    One  or  two  wanted  a  doctor. 

But  Lilac  went  to  her,  lifted  her  from  the 
slab,  wound  entreating  arms  about  her,  and 
pillowed  her  on  her  shoulder.  There  she 
finished  her  fight,  the  measure  of  her  tears 
growing  gradually  less  with  the  sobs,  until, 
after  a  long  space,  she  was  tranquil,  save 
for  spasmodic  coughs. 

163 


T^winkletoes 


"Feel  better,  T winks?" 

"Urn." 

"That's  right.  You've  had  a  cry.  Now 
you  want  to  be  cheered  up.  It's  no  use 
moping.  It  won't  help  things.  You'll  have 
to  keep  as  bright's  you  can.  We'll  all  help. 
Won't  we?" 

"Yes.    Any  way  we  can.    Not  'alf !" 

"Thanks." 

Lilac  rocked  her  in  her  arms.  "What  you 
want  to  do  now  ?    Going  home  ?" 

"Oh,  I  dunno.  No.  I  can't  go  'ome.  I 
can't  go 'ome.    No.    Oh,  Lilac!" 

"There,  kid.  No,  it  won't  be  much  use 
your  going  'ome.  You  won't  sleep.  I  know 
you  won't.  You'll  only  get  mopey  and 
brood V  by  yourself." 

Twinks  raised  herself  a  little.  "You  going 
with  the  crowd  to-night,  Lilac?" 

"Well,  we  did  think  of  going,  but— 

"I'll  come  wi'  you." 


j> 


Lilac  pondered.  "Yes,"  she  said  at  length ; 
would  be  better,  perhaps.    Best  thing  you 

164 


T'winkletoes 


could  do,  come  to  think  of  it.  Might  cheer 
you  up  a  bit.  You  want  something  rackety. 
Take  you  out  of  yourself  like." 

'■'Where  you  going?" 

"Oh,  the  Lantern.  Downstairs.  Me  and 
one  or  two  others,  and  some  of  the  boys,  and 
Freddie  Parslow.  Quite  private  it'll  be.  Just 
ourselves.    I  think  it'll  do  you  good,  really." 

"I  want  to  die,  Lilac." 

"Oh,  don't,  Twinks.  No  good  talking  like 
that.  I  know  how  you  feel,  ducksie.  But 
it  won't  do.    It  won't  help  matters." 

Twinkletoes  threw  herself  from  Lilac's 
arms,  and  became  suddenly  alive.  She 
jumped  up.  "All  right.  I'll  come.  I  don't 
care  where  I  go  to-night.  I'll  come  any- 
where.   Get  ready." 

"That's  right,"  said  Lilac,  turning  to  the 
crowd  with  a  touch  of  pride  in  her  manner 
as  though  to  say:  "There!  We  didn't  want 
a  doctor.    I've  done  her  good !" 

At  the  stage  door  was  Roseleaf.  "  'Ullo, 
kiddie.     Coming  along  with  us.    That's  the 


165 


T^winkletoes 


style.  Lilac'll  look  after  you.  We'll  try  to 
cheer  you  up  a  bit.  Whatever's  'appened 
don't  make  no  diffs  to  us." 

She  followed  them  with  a  desperate  gaiety. 
Her  god  had  fallen.  She  would  celebrate 
the  fall  with  fitting  rites. 

They  reached  the  Blue  Lantern  and  by 
a  private  door  descended  to  the  basement 
saloon,  reserved  for  various  obscure  "clubs" 
and  societies.  It  was  brightly  lit,  and  set 
with  tables  and  crimson  plush  lounges.  An 
open  piano  stood  in  a  corner,  its  top  covered 
with  wine,  beer  and  spirit  bottles,  with  corks 
drawn.  Sandwiches  were  on  a  small  green- 
baize  table.  A  lounge  in  the  corner,  built 
in  decks  like  a  ship's  berths,  was  for  the  use 
of  those  who  liked  the  lamp.  The  odor  was 
sickly;  the  air  dry.  Cheap  sporting  prints 
disfigured  the  walls. 

The  company  included  Roseleaf ;  the  two 
comedians  of  that  week's  show ;  Twinkletoes, 
Lilac,  and  three  others  of  the  older  girls  of 
the  troupe,  between  sixteen  and  seventeen; 

166 


T^winkletoes 


the  conductor  of  the  Quayside;  the  electri- 
cian; the  electrician's  wife,  and  one  or  two 
of  the  bandsmen. 

Roseleaf  called  for  Dickery-Dock  with 
magnanimous  geniality,  and  the  bottles 
were  served.  The  girls  took  wine.  The 
electrician's  wife  took  gin  and  water.  The 
others  chose  whisky  or  beer. 

"Come  on,  Lilac,"  said  Roseleaf  pro- 
prietorially.  "Get  busy.  Show  us  'ow  it's 
done.  And  put  some  ginger  into  it.  We 
want  warming  up  to-night." 

"All  right,  guv'nor."  Lilac  moved 
obediently  to  the  piano.  She  loved  these 
forbidden  underground  escapades.  They 
were  life  to  her:  adventure;  something  dif- 
ferent from  the  poor  round  of  her  work  on 
the  halls  and  her  mornings  in  the  stuffy 
rooms  of  her  home  with  quarrelsome  parents. 
She  was  at  that  age  when  she  was  tired  of 
ordinary  things;  an  age  of  wanting  some- 
thing to  happen;  of  wanting  you  know  not 
what:  chiefly,  perhaps,  of  wanting  to  want 

167 


l^winkletoes 


something.  Nothing  happened  in  her  life. 
She  did  the  same  things  every  day;  met  the 
same  people ;  performed  the  same  tasks ;  and 
they  fed  her  up.  These  little  excursions 
after  the  show  with  Roseleaf  opened  the 
ivory  gate  to  her,  and  gave  her  palate  just 
that  salted  flick  that  it  needed.  In  these 
affairs  she  could  live;  she  could  let  herself 
go. 

She  strummed  idly  on  the  piano  for  a 
space ;  then,  with  a  crash  of  chords  her  young 
hands  and  bare  arms  flashed  along  the  keys 
in  a  provocative  rag- time  that  stung  the 
blood  and  set  muscles  moving  against  their 
will,  and  immediately  the  room  seemed  to 
blaze  with  carnival  lights. 

Twinkletoes,  pale  and  dried  as  a  statue, 
sat  staring  before  her,  wondering  whether 
she  had  ever  been  the  Twinkletoes  of  yester- 
day. She  had  no  interest  in  anything. 
There  was  no  hope  for  her  of  entertainment. 
She  was  there  because  she  was  not  elsewhere. 
She  hardly  knew  she  was  there.     Her  body 

168 


^winkletoes 


was  reclining  on  a  lounge,  but  mind  and  soul 
were  suspended.  White  wine  was  placed 
before  her,  and  she  gulped  it,  and  lit  a 
Turkish  cigarette. 

All  were  smoking,  and  through  the  en- 
twining haze  she  saw  Roseleaf  cross  to  Lilac 
at  the  piano,  move  her  straight,  short  hair 
that  reached  just  to  her  collar,  and  put  his 
lips  to  the  back  of  her  neck.  Yesterday  she 
wouldn't  have  liked  it,  but  it  didn't  matter 
now. 

"Go  way,  guv'nor,"  laughed  Lilac  skit- 
tishly, twisting  nimbly  but  not  ceasing  her 
melody.     "Go  'way.     I'll  beat  you." 

"Try  it"  he  chuckled.  He  held  a  glass 
of  wine  to  her  mouth,  and  she  lapped  it 
while  keeping  the  intricate  beats  of  the  rag. 
He  gave  her  a  word,  and  she  played  a  yearn- 
ing melody  to  which  he  sang,  inviting  the 
company  to  join  in  the  chorus.  Nine  voices 
roared  it : 

We  sha'n't  'ave  no  Wore 

As  long's  we  'ave  a  King  like  good  King  Edward, 
There  won't  be  no  Wore 

169 


T^winkletoes 


'Cos  'e  'ates  that  koind  of  thing — guh! 
We  sha'n't  'ave  no  Wore 
As  long's  we  'ave  a  King  like  good  King  Edward 
Peace  with  'Onner 
Is  'is  M otter 
Gawd  save — 

the  King — guh! 

Roseleaf  strolled  idly  round.  Coming 
before  Twinkletoes,  he  looked  down  at  her. 
"Feeling  better,  young  'un?" 

"I'm  all  right,"  she  replied  automatically. 

"That's  good.  Much  better  for  you  than 
going  'ome.  'Ave  some  more  o'  this.  Do 
you  good." 

He  filled  her  glass  with  the  cheap  Graves, 
and  she  gulped  it  almost  defiantly,  finishing 
it.  He  filled  it  again,  and  again  she  gulped. 
They  were  large  glasses,  and  she  told  herself 
that  she  was  beginning  to  feel  a  bit  bosky. 
But  it  didn't  matter. 

Ilalf-an-hour  passed  in  drinking  and  talk- 
ing. Then  the  comic  man  did  a  song  which 
no  manager  could  allow  him  to  do  on  the 
halls.  It  went  well.  They  called  for  more. 
He  gave  some  impromptus  to  which  Lilac 

170 


T^winkletoes 


vamped.  The  company  agreed  loudly  that 
he  was  A  Lad.  Finding  her  glass  empty, 
Twinkletoes  helped  herself  to  more  wine. 
The  comic  man  was  certainly  comic.  And 
that  conductor  fellow  had  wonderfully  curly 
hair.  Lilac  played  the  piano  beautifully. 
The  Blue  Lantern  was  a  jolly  fine  place. 
This  room  was  very  comfortably  furnished. 

Roseleaf  had  settled  himself  by  the  elec- 
trician's wife,  and  was  stroking  her  hand. 

"Y'know,"  said  the  electrician,  "I  rather 
feel  like  a  pipe." 

"Oh,  do  yeh?"  snapped  Roseleaf.  "Well 
you  ain't  going  to  git  one.  Not  'ere,  at  my 
party.  I  ain't  going  to  'ave  you  coming  up 
buggy  t'morrer,  and  fusing  the  plucky  wires. 
You  don't  take  it  frequent  enough  to  take  it 
decently.     What  d'you  say,  Hilda?" 

"Roseleaf's  right,"  said  the  electrician's 
wife.  "If  'e's  on  that  sorter  strike,  'e 
needn't  think  'e'll  sleep  wi'  me.  'Cos  'e 
won't.  I've  'ad  one  experience.  And  one's 
enough.     Moderation  in  all  things,  as  the 

171 


T'winkletoes 


mother  said  when  she  'ad  'er  first  baby." 

Twinkletoes  suddenly  shifted  her  position. 
"I'd  like  a  shot,  guv'nor,"  she  said  dully  and 
thickly. 

"Eh?"  He  looked  at  her  with  critical 
affection.  "Well,  you're  in  a  bit  of  a  state 
to-night.  Might  calm  yeh  down  a  bit. 
Won't  do  yeh  no  'arm,  I  sh'd  think.  All 
right,  I'll  get  it." 

He  called  to  Dickery-Dock  for  the  lay- 
out. Twinkletoes  drained  her  glass  and 
climbed  to  the  pillowed  lounge  in  the  corner, 
where  she  lay  down.  The  lay-out  was 
brought  and  the  stuff  cooked.  She  took  the 
long  stem  of  the  pipe  to  her  teeth,  and  pulled 
the  curtain  half-way  across  the  recess.  Its 
dusk  was  soon  beaded  with  the  blue  light  of 
the  lamp  and  the  tiny  glow  of  the  hop. 

It  was  now  half-past  one.  At  the  piano 
Lilac  worked  hard  on  waltzes,  ballad  songs, 
dance  pieces,  and  all  the  yellable  rubbish  of 
the  halls.  Roseleaf  began  to  tell  stories  to 
the  electrician's  wife,  stories  with  question- 

172 


'^winkletoes 


able  points  to  them,  which  he  dehvered  be- 
tween great  gulps  of  whisky.  His  stories 
reminded  the  other  men  of  stories,  and  they 
progressed  from  coarse  to  filthy. 

The  company  was  well  warmed  up.  Their 
voices  rose.  They  talked  assertively.  They 
became  opulent.  They  looked  masterfully  at 
the  bottles  and  the  lounges  and  the  room 
generally.  The  amber  beers  and  whiskies 
caught  the  light  and  reflected  it  as  gold. 
Released  suddenly  from  the  fetters  and 
cautions  of  daily  life,  the  men  became  bold, 
with  a  touch  of  challenge.  Roseleaf  pulled 
Lilac  from  the  piano,  and  settled  her  at  his 
side  on  the  lounge.  One  of  the  bandsmen 
took  her  place  and  perfunctorily  hammered 
out  breathless  stuff  from  the  Paris  halls. 

Twinkletoes,  through  veiled  eyes,  saw 
Lilac  reclining  against  a  corner  of  the 
lounge,  her  legs  crossed.  She  saw  the  con- 
ductor getting  fresh  with  the  electrician's 
wife.  She  saw  Roseleaf  stretch  a  hand  to 
the  table  for  his  whisky,  and  take  a  glass  of 

173 


T^winkletoes 


wine  and  drain  it.  She  saw  Lilac  fumble  for 
her  glass,  and  take  the  nearest,  which  was 
Roseleaf's  whisky.  She  saw  the  gigantic 
Dickery-Dock  sprawling  full  length  on  a 
far  bench,  taking  tankards  of  his  own  Old, 
and  she  heard  him  exchanging  bedraggled 
jests  with  the  comedians,  and  discussing 
probables  for  next  week's  big  race.  She  saw 
Lilac  attempt  a  Mazurka  with  Roseleaf,  and 
saw  her  mad  feet  become  entwined  with  her 
partner's  and  her  stocking  slip  saucily  down 
to  her  ankle,  and  heard  the  Homeric 
laughter  occasioned  by  the  accident. 

Then  a  delicious  haze  dropped  over  every- 
thing. The  crashing  notes  of  the  piano  came 
to  her  faintly  like  music  from  distant  palace 
windows,  awaking  in  her  many  forgotten 
sweetnesses.  Dickery  Dock  swelled  into  a 
grotesque  statue.  The  room  reeled,  and  the 
cloud  of  tobacco  smoke  changed  violently 
from  purple  to  amber,  to  scarlet,  to  green, 
and  then  to  the  tint  and  texture  of  ivory. 
It  emitted  gushes  of  uproar.  The  lazy  smoke 

174 


T'winkletoes 


from  her  own  pipe,  discharging  its  foul 
sweetness,  became  a  wandering  angel.  Lilac 
seemed  to  swim  from  the  lounge  to  mid-air, 
floating  towards  her  like  some  cruelly  lovely 
comrade  of  a  broken  dream.  The  clink  of 
bottle  against  glass,  as  drinks  were  poured 
and  swallowed  with  the  hectic  haste  of  semi- 
intoxication,  was  like  children's  voices  sing- 
ing silvern  songs.  Through  her  limbs 
purred  a  fantastic  warmth,  and  she  desired 
nothing  but  that  that  moment  should  be 
stretched  to  the  end  of  time.  Her  sorrow 
was  assuaged.  The  most  profound  affairs 
faded  into  ludicrous  triviality.  Dad  seemed 
to  be  only  a  vague  thought  from  another 
world  into  which  she  had  lately  peeped,  and 
his  trouble  remained  with  her  as  the  troubles 
of  the  people  of  a  cinema  play.  She  re- 
membered her  furious  grief  of  the  evening, 
and  wondered  why  she  had  so  behaved.  How 
silly  it  all  seemed.  It  didn't  matter,  really. 
Nothing  was  worth  bothering  about.  She 
must  have  been  a  silly. 

175 


'Twinkletoes 


The  green-stockinged  legs  of  Lilac  moved 
and  receded.  Lilac  was  a  dish  of  goblin 
sweetmeats  which  she  could  never  reach. 
She  wanted  to  eat  her,  but  though  she  was 
so  close  to  her  she  seemed  many  miles  away. 

The  spent  pipe  dropped  from  her  languid 
fingers  and  fell  with  a  tiny  clatter  to  the 
floor.  Her  eyes  closed  and  she  and  Lilac 
flew  away  together.  They  were  still  flying, 
when  a  hoarse,  thick  voice,  which  seemed  to 
be  a  sentient  substance,  stopped  them.  They 
crashed  against  it.  The  words  from  the 
voice  were: 

"S'pose  we  bett'  move  along.  Wha's 
time?" 

"Ar  pars  three!"  boomed  another  voice. 

"Well.     Besserfrensmuspar." 

There  were  sounds  of  mild  scuffling,  and 
surely  that  was  Lilac's  voice. 

"Amy!  A-mee!  Don'  go  yet.  I  can't 
g'ome  like  this.  I'm  tied  up.  Sewn  up. 
Fairly.  Sha'n'  'alf  cop  it  'f  I  go  'ome  like 
this.    Lemme  g'ome  wi'  you.    My  ol'  dad'll 

176 


T^winkletoes 


flog  me  'f  I  g'ome  like  this.  Lemme  come 
t'your  place.  .  .  .  No.  'Mall  right.  Sha'n' 
tummel  over.  On'y  gimme  your  'and. 
'Mall  right.  On'y  daren'  g'ome.  'E  '11  take 
the  cane  t'me  'f  I  do.  .  .  .  Fin'  ol'  time,  eh? 
Don'  care  a  damn.  'Joyed  meself  top-'ole. 
Great  night.  C'm'on.  Lemme  get  your 
arm.  'Sawf'ly  good  of  you.  Bes'  girl  I 
know.  Qui'  a  dear.  Always  like  you,  Amy. 
Deares'  girl  I  ever  met.  'Strewth,  y'are. 
C'm'on." 

Then  another  voice.  "  'Ere — what  about 
that  kid,  Twinkletoes?  She's  asleep.  'Ere, 
we  can'  leave  'er  'ere." 

A  great  bull  roared:  "No.  Course  yeh 
can't.  I  can'  ave  'er  'ere  all  night.  One  of 
you's  got  to  take  'er  'ome." 

"Well,  who?     Eh?     Who?" 

Three  thousand  hands  were  laid  upon 
Twinkletoes'  body,  and  she  dropped  from 
swirling  clouds  to  something  hard. 

"Pick  'er  up.  Pick  'er  up,"  cried  the 
goblins.     "She's  drunk." 

177 


T'winkletoes 


She  felt  herself  raised  by  many  arms. 

"She's  drunk." 

"Well,  what  d'y'  expect?  Mixing  pipe 
with  wine." 

Then  she  received  a  stinging  slap  on  the 
cheek.  Fumblingly  she  reached  the  thought 
that  she  had  never  in  her  life  been  slapped  as 
most  of  her  young  friends  had  been.  An- 
other fierce  slap  came  to  the  other  cheek,  and 
then  others  from  every  side,  until  her  head 
sang. 

"That  oughter  bring  'er  round." 

"Rub  'er  'ands,  someone!" 

Rebellion  against  the  idea  of  assault,  more 
than  the  assault  itself,  did  bring  her  round. 
She  opened  her  eyes. 

"Oh!  We're  all  'ere,  then,"  she  said 
idiotically,  knowing  that  she  had  said  some- 
thing brilliant. 

She  saw  the  electrician's  wife  stumble  to- 
wards her. 

"You  bett'  g'ome,"  said  the  lady.  "Find 
yer  way  'ome  all  right?" 

178 


Twinkletoes 


"She  can't  go  'ome  alone  like  that,"  pro- 
tested Dickery-Dock.  "She'll  be  pinched. 
And  then  it'll  come  back  on  my  'ouse.  I 
don'  want  no  p'lice  court  case,  I  tell  yeh." 

Roseleaf  swung  himself  from  the  table 
against  which  he  was  leaning.     "I'll  see'r 


'ome." 


Twinkletoes  suffered  one  of  those  electric 
moments  of  sobrietj^  that  reach  the  wholly 
intoxicated.  "Don'  wanner  g'ome.  Can' 
g'ome.     Won'  g'ome." 

Dickery-Dock,  the  only  sober  member  of 
the  party,  scratched  his  head.  "Well, 
wodyeh  going  t'do  about  it?" 

Roseleaf  dug  painfully  and  deeply  into  his 
thoughts.  Inspiration  came.  "I  know.  I'll 
take  'er  'ome.  Get  there,  easy.  Leave  'er 
wi'  Missis  Nobletts,  nex'  door.  Can'  let  'er 
go  like  this.  Can'  let  'er  be  pinched.  I'll 
fix  it.  Leave  it  t'me.  Leave  everything 
t'me." 

"All  ri',  guv'nor."  Twinkletoes  reeled  to- 
wards him,  and  clutched  his  coat.     "I'll  go 

179 


'^winkletoes 


'long  wi'  you.  You  bin  goo'  t'me  t 'night." 
Now  Lilac,  who  was  following  Amy  and 
w^orrying  herself  to  place  her  feet  properly 
on  the  steps,  heard  this,  and  turned  sharply 
round  and  screamed,  very  shrilly: 

"No — no — no,  Twinkletoes!  You  gotter 
come  wi'  us.  Me  and  Amy.  You  come 
'ome  wi'  us." 

She  staggered  horribly  towards  Twinkle- 
toes.  "Wi'  us.  Me  and  Amy.  We'll  see 
you  all  ri'."     She  grasped  Twinkletoes'  arm. 

"G'way,"  muttered  Twinkletoes.  "Guv'- 
nor's  goin'  fix  me.  Bin  good  t'me  t'night. 
Feel  fine.     Don'  wanner  go  wi'  you." 

"Twinks!  Twinks!"  Lilac  tugged  madly 
at  her  to  force  her  from  Roseleaf.  "Twinks, 
you  can't.  It  ain't  right.  Not  wi'  'im. 
You  don'  know.  You  don'  understand. 
You're  too  nice.  Not  wi'  'im.  Me  and 
Amy'll  see  you." 

"G'way!" 

Lilac  screamed:  "Oh,  Twinks,  don't!" 

"Shut     that     fool's     mouth,"     said     the 

180 


'Twmkletoes 


electrician's  wife,  smacking  Lilac  smartly 
across  the  lips.  "Yeh'll  'ave  the  cops  on  us, 
makin'  that  damn  row." 

LUac  clapped  a  hand  to  her  hurt  mouth, 
but  swayed  again  to  Twinkletoes. 

"Oh,  Twinks,  you  can't.  You  mustn't. 
Can't  you  see'^.  Wi'  us.  Me  and  Amy. 
We'll " 

Twinkletoes  lifted  a  sturdy  leg  and  kicked 
Lilac  forcefully  on  the  shin.  "Now'U  you 
shut  up?     C'm'on,  guv'nor!" 

Lilac  collapsed  on  the  lounge,  and  was 
seized  by  the  protecting  Amy.  Twinkletoes 
and  Roseleaf,  clinging  absurdly,  found  the 
steps,  climbed  to  the  street,  and  dropped  into 
the  tank  of  the  East  End  darkness.  Over 
everything  had  fallen  that  cold  crash  of  still- 
ness that  marks  the  meeting  of  night  and 
dawn. 

The  sharp  air  of  the  river  affected  them. 
It  cleared  Twinkletoes  of  stupor,  and  made 
her  effervescent  and  reckless.  It  muddled 
Roseleaf :  he  became  maudlin  and  perplexed. 

181 


T^winkletoes 


"Lessee.     Turn  to  ri',  don'  we?" 

"Thassit,  guv'nor.  Keep  to  the  right, 
and  you  can'  go  wrong."  She  laughed 
stridently. 

"Beh  no'  make  s'much  noise,"  Roseleaf 
suggested. 

"I  don'  care.  I  don'  care  fer  nothing. 
My  old  Dad's  goin'  to  quod,  and  I'm  'is  kid. 
I  shall  be  a  lag's  daughter.  Won't  I  be 
pop'lar?  There  goes  the  lag's  kid,  they'll 
say.  Won'  it  be  funny?  They'll  throw 
things  at  me,  and  I'll  throw  back.  Winter 
sports.  'F  I  go  on  at  Quayside  again, 
sha'n'  'alf  get  the  bird.  .  .  .  An'  I  thought 
'e  was  such  a  bloomin'  'ero.  Such  a  saint. 
Something  to  live  up  to.  And  'e's  going  to 
quod.  An'  me  makin'  all  that  fuss  in  the 
dressin'-room  'sev'ning.  They  mus'  'ave 
thought  I  was  a  blasted  fool  not  to  'ave 
known.     Ain't  it  damn  funny?" 

"Roun'  to  ri',"  Roseleaf  was  murmuring. 
"Rum  thing,  y'know.  Can'  find  my  street. 
Useter  be  'ere.     Useter  be  jus'  'ere.     Can' 

182 


T'winkletoes 


'ave  moved  it,  surely?  No;  course  they 
can'  'ave  moved  it.  Swear  it  useter  be  'ere. 
Less  ask  someone." 

He  swayed  and  clutched  at  a  sand-bin, 
and  dragged  Twinkletoes  with  him.  They 
leaned  against  it,  Twinkletoes  laughing, 
Roseleaf  apologizing  for  the  removal  or 
obliteration  of  his  home. 

Steps  sounded  sharply  on  the  pavement 
opposite.  Steps  they  had  heard  all  round 
them  as  they  walked,  but  they  placed  them 
as  belonging  to  the  Blue  Lantern  crowd. 
They  looked  towards  the  sound,  and  under 
a  bleak  gas-lamp  stood  Cissie  Lightfoot. 

Twinkletoes  cried  festively  at  her,  "Missie 
Li-ightfoot!"  and  made  a  yodel  of  it. 

Cissie  crossed  the  road.  She  looked  coldly 
upon  them.  "You're  in  a  nice  state,  you 
two." 

"What's  it  matter?"  Twinkletoes  de- 
manded, holding  the  sand-bin  with  one  hand 
and  high-kicking  with  an  agreeable  leg. 

"A  kid  like  you — sixteen — in  short  frocks. 

183 


Twinkletoes 


Oughter  be  ashamed  of  yesself,  being  like 
this.  Stop  that  kicking.  Put  yeh  frock 
down,  yeh  little  beast." 

"Missie  Li-ightfoot,  we're  lost.  Going 
'ome  with  Roseleaf,  and  'e's  lost  'is  'ouse. 
Winter  sports  'ave  just  begun." 

"Huh!  You're  a  nice  one.  Out  at  this 
hour,  and  going  'ome  like  this.  And  with 
'im.     Dirty  little  cat,  you." 

"That's  all  ri'.     You  ain't  my  mother." 

"Damn  good  job  fer  you  I'm  not.  I'd 
give  you  a  few  warmings  if  I  was,  and  like  to 
'ave  the  doing  of  it  too." 

"I  bet  you  would.  Well,  show  us  where 
Cochin  Gardens  are." 

"Yerss,"  Roseleaf  added,  "show  us  where 
Cochin  Gardens  are." 

"Find  'em  yesselves,  yeh  dirty  little 
beasts!" 

She  stood  for  a  moment,  and  looked  upon 
them.  Her  face  was  in  shadow,  and  nothing 
could  be  seen  of  her  expression.  But  when 
she  swung  round  and  walked  away,  she  gave 

184 


T^wmkletoes 


a  deep  snort  as  of  one  at  last  getting  what 
had  long  been  her  rights. 

It  was  Twinkletoes  who  at  last  found 
Cochin  Gardens,  and  she  did  not  put  herself 
in  the  hands  of  dear  Mrs.  Nobletts  next  door. 
She  disarranged  Roseleaf  and  dug  a  key 
from  his  pocket,  and  they  went  in.  Roseleaf 
stumbled  to  the  back  room,  and  Twinkletoes 
followed,  found  matches  and  lit  a  lamp. 
Roseleaf  dropped  to  a  shiny  sofa,  and  closed 
his  eyes.  A  few  seconds  later  he  opened 
them,  and  saw  Twinkletoes,  wondrously 
flushed,  standing  against  the  table,  giggling. 
He  struggled  to  conjecture  how  she  came  to 
be  there.  But  she  was  there,  profuse  in 
promises  of  beauty. 

"Come  'ere,  kid!"  he  grunted. 


185 


IX 


CrSSIE  LIGHTFOOT  did  not  go  to 
bed  when  she  got  home:  she  was  too 
cheerful.  She  sat  in  a  chair  until 
six  o'clock,  when  the  day's  life  of  the  place 
began.  Then  she  made  a  sloppy  toilet  and 
went  out.  On  the  Blue  Lantern  corner  she 
walked  with  arranged  surprise  into  Hank 
Hogan. 

"  'Lo,"  he  grunted.  "  'Bout  early,  ain't 
you?" 

"Oh,  I  was  just  coming  out  to  find  my  old 
pot.  'E  ain't  bin  'ome.  I  s'pose  'e's  done 
a  bunk.  You  laiow  about  Minasi's  lay, 
doncher?  Chuck  was  in  it,  so  I  s'pose  'e'll 
be  roped  in  with  the  rest.  .  .  .  'Orrible 
business,  ain't  it?" 

"Ar." 

"And  'is  kid's  goings-on  make  it  worse, 
don't  they?  At  a  time  like  this,  too,  when 
'e's  in  trouble.  She  might  'ave  some  decency 
about  'er." 

"Eh?" 

186 


T'winkletoes 


"Why,  you  know.  Last  night.  Dirty 
little  cat." 

"Ar."  He  looked  her  in  the  face  and  lied. 
"I  'eard  something  about  it."  He  had  not 
heard,  and  she  knew  he  had  not  heard.  It 
was  her  plan  to  tell  him. 

"Oh.  Filthy  games.  Last  night — or 
rather  'smorning.  At  the  Lantern,  'ere. 
I  saw  'em  chucked  out.  Four  o'clock 
'smorning.  Copped  the  brewer,  fairly. 
Went  'ome  with  Roseleaf,  too.  'Im,  above 
all.  I  tried  to  get  'er  away,  but  she  wouldn't 
come.  Flinging  'erself  at  'im,  she  was. 
Kissing  'im  and  wouldn't  leave  'im.  Said 
she  wanted  'er  fun  same's  other  people. 
Swore  at  me.  I  saw  'em  go  into  'is  'ouse 
together — and  you  know  what  'e  is.  Drunk  ? 
She  could  'ardly  stand.  You  can  guess 
what  'appened  in  there.  I  s'pose  they're 
sleepin  it  orf  now.  Filthy  little  wretch.  At 
'er  age,  too.  She  wants  a  'ose-pipe  on  'er. 
Or  a  'orse-whip.  And  'er  Dad  in  all  this 
trouble,  too.    'Nough  to  drive  'im  orf  'is  'ead." 

187 


'T'winkletoes 


"Ar,"  said  Hank.     "But  there  y'are." 

"Well,"  she  continued,  after  a  brief  ir- 
resolution, "I'll  'ave  a  trot  round  and  see 
if  I  can  find  Chuck.  I  dessay  'e's  'ad  the 
wire,  but  'e's  such  a  fool.  Like  as  not  'e'll 
go  and  bung  'imself  at  Territon's  'ead — or 
bash  'im.     S'long." 

"Cheero." 

Hank  stood  at  his  corner  as  though  fixed 
for  the  day,  until  Cissie  had  disappeared. 
Then  with  shuffling  but  rapid  steps  he  went 
towards  Shantung  Place.  He  rapped 
sharply  on  Minasi's  door.  It  was  not  opened 
until  he  rapped  again  with  a  curious  tattoo. 
Then  Dad  appeared  unkempt,  with  braces 
dolefully  suspended  from  his  trousers. 

"Oh,  it's  you.  Come  in.  I  thought  they'd 
started  for  me." 

Hank  walked  in.  A  scene  was  coming. 
Scenes  always  made  him  uncomfortable,  but 
humanity  and  friendship  demanded  that  he 
should  carry  this  one.  In  the  kitchen  Dad 
had  been  burning  papers  and  other  materials 

188 


'^winkletoes 


in  the  fireplace.  He  turned  with  a  mirthful 
grin. 

"Got  'ny  news?"  he  asked. 

"No,"  said  Hank. 

"Ah,  well.  They'll  'ave  a  'ell  of  a  job  to 
make  a  case  now.  I  got  rid  of  everything. 
They  can't  fix  nothing  on  us.  Course,  I 
suppose  they'll  pinch  us,  but  that  won't 
matter.  We  shall  just  go  through  the  'ear- 
ing, and  then  be  discharged,  and  perhaps 
'ave  a  case  fer  wrongful  arrest.  There'll 
be  a  scandal,  but  nothing'll  stick,  and  it  won't 
mean  anything  to  Twinks.  She'll  never 
know  anything.  We  shall  prove  innocence, 
and  she'll  only  be  worried  'cos  we  was 
bothered  at  all.  So  I'm  feeling  good 
'smorning,  I  was  in  a  fix  last  night.  Made 
sure  they'd  got  us  fair.  As  it  is,  she  won't 
know  and  won't  smell  anything.  Thank 
God  fer  that.  Thank  God."  He  hitched 
his  trousers,  and  the  prayer  came  sincerely 
from  his  lips.  He  had  passed  twenty-four 
hours  of  anguish,  but  now  that  the  thing  he 

189 


'T'winkletoes 


most  feared  was  beyond  any  possibility  of  ar- 
riving, Twinkletoes  would  never  know.  She 
would  still  believe  in  him,  and  he,  for  the 
future,  would  be  able  clearly  and  fairly  to 
live  up  to  her  beauty  and  character.  He 
chortled  and  chirruped:  "Gawd  is  love — 
'earts  are  trumps,"  he  went  on.  "IV  alwis 
said  so." 

Hank  stood  before  him,  and,  taking  his 
appearance,  without  his  face,  he  seemed  some 
evil  thing  of  the  night  spoiling  the  dawn. 

"I'm  glad,"  he  said  at  last  absently. 
"But — I  mean — is  Twinkletoes  'ere?" 

"Yerss.     In  bed." 

"Sure?"     Hank's  face  was  illumined. 

"Course  I'm  sure." 

"Seen'er?" 

"No.     But  she's  there  right  enough." 

"What  time  she  come  in?" 

"I  d'no.  I  on'y  just  got  in  'bout  an  hour 
ago.  I  bin  fixing  things  at  the  Works.  But 
she  always  comes  in  at  'ar-pars  twelve." 

"Well — ^go  up  an'  see  if  she's  there  now," 

190 


T'winkletoes 


"Whaffor?     What's  the  idea?" 

"I  can'  tell  yeh — not  yet.  Go  up  and  see 
if  she's  there." 

"Wodyeh  getting  at?  You  bin  on  the 
hop?" 

"Go  up  an'  see  if  she's  there,"  repeated 
Hank,  as  from  a  lesson-book. 

Something  in  his  manner  and  aspect 
jarred  old  Dad.  He  looked  at  him.  He 
hitched  his  trousers. 

"Go  up  an'  see  if  she's  there?"  he  asked. 

"Ar." 

He  turned  to  the  door;  halted;  turned 
again;  looked  at  Hank,  who  was  inspecting 
a  colored  almanac;  then  went  upstairs. 

He  came  down  in  some  trouble. 

"Hank,  what's  the  game?  She  ain't 
there." 

Hank  sought  for  words,  and  finally 
stumbled  on  them.  "Old  man — your 
Twinkletoes — your  kid's — gorn  WTong." 

"Gom  wr What  th'ell  yeh  talking 

about?" 

191 


T^winkletoes 


"She's  gorn  wrong." 

"Gorn  wrong — how  th'ell  could  she  go 
wrong?" 

"Well — 'ow  do  girls  go  wrong?" 

A  shadow  flashed  upon  Dad's  face.  His 
figure  bent  in  menace.  "  'Ank — if  it  was 
anyone  else  I'd  lay  'em  out  fer  saying  that. 
And  you  know  it.  Out  with  it — wodyeh 
mean  ?  Wodyeh  know  ?  Whassit  yer  guff - 
ing  about?" 

"I  ain't  guff  ing.  Your  kid's  gorn 
wrong." 

Dad  fumbled  at  his  trousers.  His  glance 
wandered.  He  scratched  his  head.  Then 
he  blazed. 

"Out  with  it,  yeh  blasted  fool.  Don't 
stand  like  a  blasted  scarecrow.  Ain't  I  'ad 
enough  trouble  ?  Spit  it  out.  Where  d'yeh 
get  that  blasted  lie?" 

"She's  gorn  wrong.  Went  to  the  Lantern 
last  night.  Downstairs.  The  Quayside 
gang  'ave  jags  down  there  oncer  twicer 
week.     She  went  with  'em.     They  come  out 

192 


T'winkletoes 


at  four  'smorning.  She  was  drunk.  Mrs. 
Lightfoot  see'er.  Drunk.  And  silly.  Went 
'ome  with  Roseleaf.  Into  'is  'ouse.  'E  lives 
alone.  Know  the  chap  'e  is.  Four  o'clock 
'smorning.  Drunk  so's  she  couldn't  walk. 
Mrs.  Lightfoot  watched  'em  in.  Tried  to 
get  'er  away,  but  she  wouldn't  come.  Said 
she  didn't  care.  Said  she  was  out  for  fun 
same's  all  the  others.  Kissing  Roseleaf  all 
the  way  along.     That's  all." 

Dad  listened  to  this  succinct  report.  His 
face  had  turned  grey.  He  had  not  moved 
from  his  pose.  "  'Ank,"  he  said  at  length, 
"it's  a  lie,  a  bloody  lie.  Twinkletoes?  Not 
likely.  'Er?  'Er  touch  a  thing  like  Rose- 
leaf.  It's  someone  else.  One  o'  t'other 
girls  Mrs.  Lightfoot  see." 

"No,"  said  Hank  sadly.  "She  was 
certain.  'Sides,  could  anyone  mistake 
Twinkles  fer  anyone  else?     Eh?" 

"It's  a  lie." 

"Steady,  ol'  man.  D'you  think  I'd  bring 
lies  like  that  round?     An'  at  a  time  like  this. 

193 


l^winkletoes 


Call  me  a  liar  if  yeh  like,  but  you  know  me. 
I  didn't  pass  it  on  till  I'd  asked  you  a  few 
questions,  y'know." 

"Can't  be,  'Ank.  Can't  be.  She  ain't 
that  sort.  Clean,  straight  kid  like  'er.  She 
wouldn't  do  it,  'Ank,  She  couldn't.  Gawd 
wouldn't  let  her.     She's  good.     She " 

"She's  prob'ly  there  now,  ol'  man.  Must 
be.  You've  bin  and  looked  and  she  ain't 
bin  'ome.  She  didn't  go  in  there  till  four, 
and  it's  on'y  six  now.  And  she  was  drunk 
then.  People  do  all  sorts  o'  things  when 
they're  drunk." 

"But  she  wouldn't  2i-got  drunk,  'Ank." 

"Ar.  You  bett'  come  round  wi'  me  and 
get  'er.  Or  I'll  go  round  meself,  if  yeh 
like." 

"No.  I'll  come  wi'  yeh.  .  .  .  Oh,  it  can't 
be  'er.  She  ain't  never  done  nothing  like 
this  before.  She  was  always  the  straight 
one  among  that  bunch  of  kids." 

"Ar.  But  there's  some  that  'olds  back 
and  'olds  back,  and  wants  to  be  good,  and 

194 


twinkle  toes 


you'd  never  think  of  'em  going  orf ,  and  then, 
all  of  a  sudden,  orf  they  goes — like  the  rest. 
That's  alwis  the  way." 

"Oh,  'Ank,  don't  talk  that  way.  Not 
about  'er.    She  was " 

"Come  on,  ol'  man." 

They  went  out  together,  Dad  still  not 
believing,  but  too  much  befogged  by  the 
impending  police  action  to  make  any  serious 
effort  with  reason.  He  had  been  up  all 
night  with  Chuck,  who,  in  the  absence  of 
Perce,  had  helped  him  to  dispose  of  certain 
things  whose  existence  was  best  forgotten. 
Of  Perce  they  had  assumed  naturally  that 
he  had  got  the  wire  about  the  coming  raid, 
and  had  bolted  with  no  spare  time  in  which 
to  warn  them. 

At  the  corner  of  Cochin  Gardens  Hank 
stopped,  and  Dad  became  suddenly  voluble. 

"Come  on.  I'm  going  in.  I'm  going  to 
see.     If  she's  there,  and  anything's  'appened, 

I'll   get   old   Roseleaf,   and   I'll "     He 

paused.     His    face    was    contorted.     "No, 

195 


T'wmkletoes 


no,  I  can't  go  in.  I  daren't.  I  couldn't 
bear  it.  If  it  'as  been — I  couldn't  face  'er. 
Not  to  see  'er — Twinkletoes.  My  li'l  girl. 
Like  that.     With  'im,  too.     No,  I  can't." 

"Oh,  buck  up,  ol'  man.  Come  on  in. 
'Ave  the  door  down.  Get  it  over  with  'im, 
an'  done  with  it.  See  what's  going  on,  'tany- 
rate." 

"No.  I  wouldn't  dare.  It's  too  bloody. 
Can't  be  true.  She  can't  be  in  there.  It 
ain't  even  fit  to  talk  about.  She  can't  be  in 
there."  He  looked  up  at  the  house  whose 
drawn  blinds  and  shuttered  front  gave  it  the 
aspect  of  a  menacing  creature. 

Carts  rumbled  and  early  tramcaj-s  hummed, 
carrying  their  loads  of  the  day's  labor.  A 
Pacific  boat  had  recently  berthed,  and  the 
gestic  crew  was  making  loud  progress  to  the 
Asiatics'  Home.  Hoarse  cries  and  the 
voices  of  sirens  and  hooters  and  the  crash  of 
implements  came  from  the  river.  A  sun 
peered  from  a  grey  sky  and  touched  the  raw 
edges  of  world  and  people  with  a  wan  gold. 

196 


l^winkletoes 


All  externals  seemed  a  part  of  this  sick 
drama.  The  very  growl  of  the  traffic 
seemed  to  Dad  like  the  roll  of  the  drums  of 
fate  and  the  throb  of  impending  doom;  and 
he  thought  to  himself  how  rum  it  was  that  he 
should  have  thought  of  a  rum  thing  like  that 
at  such  a  time. 

He  irradiated  alternately  irresolution  and 
a  certain  sick  determination.  "Yerss  .  .  . 
I  must  go  in.  I  ought  to  go  in.  I  better 
go  in.  .  .  .  Yerss.  No,  though,  I  can't. 
'Ank,  you  go.     I'll  wait.     I'll " 

"  'Alf-a-mo.  'Ere  comes  Chuck.  Look! 
'E's  seen  us." 

Chuck  Lightfoot  was  charging  along  the 
road  towards  them.  His  customary  morning 
spruceness  was  gone.  He  was  haggard, 
irritable. 

"Ah,  there  y'are,  guv'nor.  Anything 
fresh?     Thmk  we're  all  right?" 

"Oh,  stow  it.  That  don'  matter.  There's 
other  things.     Awful.     That  ain't  nothing 

to  this." 

197 


^winkletoes 


"Wodyeh  talking  about?  Nothing  to 
what?" 

"See  that  'ouse?  That's  Roseleaf's  'ouse. 
Twinkletoes  is  in  there.  Bin  in  all  night. 
Drunk  when  she  went  in." 

"Eh?" 

Hank  took  up  the  tale,  and  gave  details 
and  lucidity. 

Chuck  listened  attentively.  Strange  hues 
chased  each  other  across  his  face  until  they 
settled  in  a  grej^ness  very  terrible. 

"I  tell  the  ol'  man  we  ought  to  go  in  and 
see " 

"Look!"  snapped  Chuck.  He  pointed  to 
the  house. 

The  door  had  opened.  Twinkletoes  ap- 
peared. Her  face  was  white  and  strained. 
Her  clothes  had  been  thrown  on.  Her 
cheeks  beneath  the  eyes  were  blackened  with 
dark  lines.  Her  eyes  were  weary  but  lit 
with  an  uncomely  lustre.  Her  mouth  was 
slack.  There  was  nothing  of  Twinkletoes 
about  her.     She  stood  shakily,  looking  on 

198 


l^winkletoes 


the   empty   street   and   the   sick   morning. 

Very  swiftly  something  came  to  Dad: 
some  sudden  change  of  idea  or  purpose  which 
communicated  itself  to  the  very  lines  of  his 
figure.  Where  a  moment  ago  he  had  sug- 
gested helplessness  he  carried  himself  with 
steadfastness.  He  gripped  Chuck's  arm; 
then  cried  in  a  loud  voice:  "Twinks!  My 
Twinks!" 

She  turned,  and  saw  the  three  at  the 
corner.  She  blinked  dazily,  but  her  brain 
told  her  that  they  knew  and  must  be 
avoided.  She  saw  old  Dad  spring  towards 
her.  One  thought  alone  possessed  him: 
Twinkletoes.  Gone  was  all  idea  of  payment 
to  Roseleaf;  gone  all  doubt  or  disbelief  in 
his  girl;  gone  all  loathing  of  the  idea  that 
she  had  done  wrong.  She  was  here;  she 
would  want  him.  But  as  he  approached 
she  screamed,  and  darted  for  the  gate.  The 
presence  of  those  men  filled  her  with  a 
sudden  terror.  She  fought  at  the  latch  like 
an  imprisoned  animal.  She  was  mad  with 

199 


T^winkletoes 


dread,  while  knowing  no  reason  for  it.    Only- 
she  knew  that  she  must  get  away  and  hide. 

But  the  latch  stuck,  and  Dad  was  upon 
her.  He  caught  her  in  his  arms,  even  as  she 
loosened  it  and  turned  to  fly. 

"Oh  Twinks,  my  liT  Twinks.     Oh,  God 
my  HT  kiddie." 
•Hank  and  Chuck  crossed  to  them. 

"Lemme  go,"  she  snapped,  between  her 
teeth,  very  quietly.  "Lemme  go.  Don't 
touch  me." 

"Oh,  Twinks,  what'd  'e  do  to  yeh?" 

"Shut  up.     Don't.     Don't  ask  me." 

"Oh,  my  dearie.    Nev'  mind.    Were  'ere." 

"Oh,  go  'way.  Lemme  go.  Leave  me 
alone." 

"Oh,  Twinks,  come  'long  'ome.  There — 
nev'  mind.  I  know  all  about  it.  Yer  all 
right  now.'* 

But  still  she  struggled.  "Oh,  what's  it 
matter?  It's  done,  now.  I  don't  wanter 
see  none  of  you — never  again.    I'm  a  beast." 

"Oh,    Twinks,    you    ain't.     You're    my 

'  200 


'Twinkletoes 


Twinkletoes.  Oh,  yeh  dunno  what  yer  say- 
ing.    Come  'ome  now,  there's  a  dearie." 

"Go,  'way.  Lemnie  be.  Can't  I  do  what 
I  like?  Can't  I  go  orf  the  rails  same's 
ev^erybody  else?     Eh?" 

With  a  savage  wrench  she  tore  herself 
free.  Chuck  grabbed  at  her  flying  frock, 
but  the  tucks  came  out  with  a  rip,  and  she 
escaped.  Next  moment  the  tortured  little 
frame  fled  down  the  street  and  turned  into 
the  chain  of  courts  that  led  from  Cochin 
Gardens. 

Dad  looked  idiotic  and  forlorn.  He  leaned 
against  the  railings  of  Roseleaf's  house, 
pufling.  He  turned  to  Chuck  and  Hank. 
His  hands  fumbled. 

"She  don't  want  us,"  he  said,  looking  in 
the  direction  she  had  taken.  "She  don't 
seem  to  want  us." 

Chuck  stood  staring  fixedly  at  the  house. 


201 


X 


DAD  wandered  away,  and  reached 
Shantung  Place  with  Chuck  without 
knowing  how  he  got  there.  He  went 
from  room  to  room,  hut  found  no  Twinkle- 
toes;  nothing  to  flood  the  day  with  silver 
and  make  work  a  sacrament  and  not  a  mere 
function. 

Foolishly  he  looked  under  beds  and  in 
cupboards,  and  in  the  tiny  space  of  back 
yard. 

Then  he  stood  in  the  kitchen  like  a  som- 
nambulist, his  thoughts  dancing  a  rag-time. 

"They'll  be  'ere  in  a  minute,  I  s'pose,"  he 
said  to  Chuck. 

"Brace  up,  guv'nor.  The  game's  on'y 
just  beginning.  You'll  want  yer  strength." 
He  was  strangely  unmoved  by  the  catas- 
trophe. "We've  'ad  the  wire.  That  means 
somebody's  giving  us  a  chance.  Territon, 
perhaps ;  'e's  alwis  bin  matey  wi'  me.  You're 
all  right.    They  can't  fix  us  if  we're  careful. 

And  you  got  to  be  careful.     It's  your  job. 

202 


l^winkletoes 


For  'er  sake.  You  'adn't  ought  to  throw  up 
like  this.  You  got  to  play  up  to  'er,  y'know. 
You'll  want  yer  strength." 

"No,  I  sha'n't,"  said  Dad  weakly. 

"  Wodyeh  mean  ?" 

"I  sha'n't.  There  ain't  no  need  for  it  now." 

"Grr.    You'll'aveto.    For 'er." 

"No.  She  don't  want  me  now.  And  as 
fer  piayin'  up  .  .  .  well  ..."  He  looked 
round  for  something  to  occupy  his  eyes. 
"And  it's  all  come  to  this.  After  every- 
thing. All  I  done.  All  these  struggles. 
Risks  and  things.  All  no  good.  All  gorn 
fer  nothing.  All  smashed.  Smashed  to  bits. 
'Er  dancing.  This  little  'ome  of  ours.  That 
there  work-basket  I  bought  for  'er.  That 
Chinese  teapot  what  she  bought.  And  the 
piano.    All  fer  nothing." 

"Oh,  brace  up,  guv'nor.  'Ave  a  drink  and 
face  it  out.  Can't  you  understand  they're 
giving  us  a  chance!" 

"Yerss.  And  yesterday  I  meant  to  take 
it.    But  now  .   .    .  All  our  struggles,  just 

203 


T^winkletoes 


for  this.  Her  ruined.  Me  in  quod.  Done 
for — both  of  us.  And  where  is  she  now? 
Why  don't  she  come  'ome?  She  don't  want 
me.  She  on'y  wants  'er  fling.  You  could 
see  it  in  'er  face  when  she  come  outer  that 
'ouse." 

"Perhaps  she's  ashamed,"  suggested 
Chuck,  in  a  religious  tone. 

"Yerss;  and  good  cause  to  be."  Dad 
suddenly  swerved  from  self-pity  to  indigna- 
tion. "Me  thinking  'er  so  pure,  so — so 
different  from  the  other  Quayside  lot.  And 
me  living  up  to  'er.  Tried  to.  And  all  the 
time Oh,  don't  it  make  yeh  laugh?" 

He  broke  down  across  the  table  in  a  wail. 
"My  h'l'  gel.  Twinkletoes^  Pure.  And 
good.  I  useter  take  'er  tea  and  fags  every 
morning  in  bed.  We  was  so  'appy.  We  was 
just  like  sweet'earts.  Living  with  'er  in  the 
'ouse,  she  seemed  to  make  everything  good. 
'Cos  I  was  a  bloody  fool  and  couldn't  see 
what  wasn't  under  me  nose.  ...  If  I  only 
knew  where  she  bolted  to.     If  she'd  on'y 

204 


l^winkletoes 


come  'ome  we  might  fix  something.  But 
she  don't  want  me.  She's  sick  of  'er  old 
Dad.  Wants  'er  fling.  She's  gorn  fair 
wrong — fer  good,  I 'spect.    Oh!    Oh!" 

"Look  'ere,  ol'  man.  I  know  'ow  our  worry 
at  the  Works  started.  Y'know  my  old  cow 
and  me  don't  get  on — about  Twinkletoes. 
Well,  y'know  that  day  I  give  a  'iding  to 
Perce?  Well,  I  went  for  'im  'cos  'e  touched 
Twinkletoes.  My  ol'  woman  got  'old  of  'im, 
found  out  why  I  did  it,  found  out  'e  wanted 
to  get  back  on  me,  and  put  'im  wise  to  fixing 
us.  Showed  'im  'ow  to  give  the  whole 
caboodle  away,  and  then  levant.  Met  'er 
'smorning — laughing  mad,  she  was — and  she 
told  me.  It  was  'er  way  of  getting  back 
on  me,  'cos  of — 'cos  of " 

"Huh!"  said  Dad,  barely  interested.  "I 
thought  there  was  something  behind  Perce's 
staying  away.  So  that's  it.  So  it  all  comes 
back  to  Twinkletoes.    Oh,  God  Almighty." 

Chuck  lit  a  cigarette.  "That's  why  we 
got  to  fight  it  out.    It  started  from  'er,  and 

205 


Twinkletoes 


it's  our  job  to  stop  it — for  'er  sake.  Well, 
guv'nor,  'ow  'bout  it?  Going  to  take  a 
chance?" 

"Oh,  don't.  Gaucher  see  it  don't  matter? 
I  don'  care  a  damn.  Don't  matter  what 
'appens  now.  We're  done.  We're  out.  'Er 
ruined.  Ruin  and  disgrace.  Everybody'll 
know  it.  All  over  the  place.  Can't  never 
'old  up  our  'eads  again.  But  don't  you  stop. 
You  take  yer  chance." 

"I'm  going  to,"  said  Chuck,  with  apparent 
callousness.  "So  long,  guv'nor.  It  can't 
be  'elped.  These  things  'appen  every  day 
to  someone,  and  now  it's  our  turn.  We  got 
to  stick  it.    It's  our  luck.    So  long." 

"So  long,  boy." 

Chuck  left  by  the  back  entrance. 

Dad  stood  by  the  kitchen  table,  rigid,  for 
a  length  of  time,  until  a  double  knock  came 
at  the  door.  He  opened  it  to  Divisional 
Detective-Inspector  Territon. 

"Ah,    Minasi.      Bin    looking    fer    you. 

There's  some  trouble  about  your  place,  and 

206 


^winklctoes 


I  got  to  make  a  few  inquiries.  In  the  mean- 
time  "    He  entered,  closed  the  door,  took 

some  official  papers  from  his  pocket,  and  read 
from  them  in  a  sing-song,  detached  voice. 

"That's  all  right,"  said  Dad.  "I'm  ready. 
It's  quite  all  right.  You  don't  need  to  bother 
with  no  inquiry.  I  bin  on  that  lay  now  for 
four  or  five  years — reg'lar." 

"It  is  my  duty  to  warn  you  that " 

"That's  all  right.  I  know  all  about  it. 
It's  quite  true.    I  must  a-bin  a  silly." 

"Well,  you  better  get  your  hat  and  coat." 

"Righto." 

"You  look  pretty  bad." 

"That  don'  matter." 

He  threw  on  hat  and  coat,  and  he  and 
Territon  went  down  the  street  together, 
Territon  chatting  amiably  about  the  weather. 

•  •••••• 

At  midday  Cissie  Light  foot  arranged  her- 
self for  an  excursion.  She  washed.  She 
dressed  with  some  attention  her  honey- 
colored  hair,  scented  it  and  curled  it.     She 

207 


T^winkletoes 


chose  a  mercerised  cotton  blouse  which  began 
its  business  as  clothing  some  minutes  too  late. 
She  also  chose  appropriate  stockings  and 
shoes,  bought  from  the  tally-man. 

She  took  a  westward  bus,  and  left  it  at 
the  corner  of  Commercial  Street.  She  walked 
down  the  street,  and  was  then  in  the  Russian 
quarter,  the  most  melancholy  of  all  London 
slums. 

Reaching  Brick  Lane,  she  turned,  and 
thereafter  made  many  turns  until  she  rested 
at  a  door  in  a  cruel,  brooding  passage.  She 
knocked.  The  door  was  opened  by  a  hairy 
Russian. 

"Perce?"  she  asked. 

The  Russian  inspected  her  and  drew  back 
the  door.  She  entered,  and  without  further 
talk  went  up  a  steep,  fusty  stair  and  knocked 
at  a  door  on  a  tiny  landing.    Perce  appeared. 

"  'Lo,"  he  said  vacantly. 

She  pushed  her  way  in  and  looked  round 
the  room.  It  was  dim  and  fusty,  without  a 
carpet.    It  contained  a  low,  fusty  bed,  table, 

208 


l^winkletoes 


chair  and  samovar.  On  the  table  was  a  glass 
smelling  of  vodka.  On  the  chair  rested  a 
lamp  and  a  little  tin,  but  no  pipe. 

She  sat  down  on  the  bed. 

"Well,  I  fixed  you  all  right,  ain't  I?" 

"Well,  I  ain't  'card  anything  so  far." 

"No  more  you  won't.  You  won't  be 
worried.  Territon  was  too  anxious  to  get 
what  I  could  give  'im.  I  tied  'im  up  proper. 
'E  'adn't  got  nothing  to  go  on  when  'e  got 
the  office  from  the — you  know — the  place 
where  I  started  it.  I  give  'im  what  'e  wanted 
on  one  condition." 

"Ah?" 

"And  that  was — you." 

"Good." 

"Um.  And  I  fixed  everything  with  'im, 
without  telling  'im  anything  'bout  you. 
You're  as  safe  as  'ouses  now.  You  can  come 
back  if  yeh  like,  on'y  you'd  better  run 
straight  fer  a  bit.  They  won't  touch  you,  old 
son.  Territon's  a  damn  fool,  but  'e's  straight. 
When  'e's  give  'is  word  'e  keeps  it.' 

209 


j> 


T^winkletoes 


"Good.  Good.  You  bin  a  good  pal  to 
me." 

"Yerss,  I  'ave.    And  I  got  a  name,  too." 

"Sorry,  Cissie.  Yerss,  you  done  me 
proud." 

She  leaned  back  on  the  bed,  her  eyes  half 
closed. 

"Well!"  she  snapped  suddenly. 

"Eh?" 

"Ain't  there  more  ways'n  one  of  saying 
thank  you." 

"Why  .  .  .  Well  ..." 

"Oh,  shut  up!" 

"Why,  now,  I " 

"Perce,  now  ..." 

"Oh,  well,  I "     He  grew  awkward, 

hot,  inarticulate.  He  stood  by  the  small 
stove,  looking  in  all  directions.  There  was 
a  minute's  silence. 

"Perce,"  she  said  at  last,  "I  ain't  told  you 
everything.  Come  here — there's  something 
else.    Come  here — 'case  anyone's  listening." 

He  went  to  her. 

210 


^winkletoes 


"Sit  down." 

He  sat  down. 

"Perce,"  she  said,  in  a  voice  intentionally 
weak  and  intimate,  "Chuck's  bin  such  a  beast 
t'me." 

"So?" 

"Yerss." 

"I'm  sorry." 

"Ain't  I  bin  a  good  pal  to  you?" 

"Course  you  'ave." 

"Well,  then.  You've  paid  your  one  on 
Chuck,  without  any  risk  and  you  couldn't 
a-done  it  without  me.  And  you  ain't  said 
you're  glad  yet.    Not  prop'ly." 

"Oh,  well,  I  am.     Reely  I  am." 

He  got  up  and  walked  to  the  window. 
The  woman  shut  her  hands  and  glared.  She 
thought  deeply  and  coldly. 

"So  that's  *ow  yeh  treat  yer  friends,  eh?" 

"Why,  now;  no.  'Tain't  that  .  .  .  but 
...  I  mean  .   .   .  You  don't  understand." 

"Grr.  I  understand  right  enough.  Sooner 
you're  with  the  rest  of  'em  the  better,  I 

211 


T^winkletoes 


reckon.  I  s*pose  you're  after  that  Minasi 
kid — eh  ?  Well,  she  ain't  for  things  like  you. 
I  will  say  this  about  the  others.  Although 
they  make  fools  of  themselves  over  her,  they 
were  straight  about  'er.  They  did  take  care 
of  'er.  You  knovi^  that  from  when  you  started 
messing  about  with  'er.  But  you,  yeh  little 
snipe,  I  know  what  you're  after." 

"Now,  look  'ere.  'Tain't  that  at  all.  You 
don't  understand." 

"Understand  yer  grandmother!" 

He  turned  from  the  window.  Clearly  he 
was  in  a  nasty  hole. 

"Oh,  well." 

"Oh  no,"  she  retorted  airily,  rising  from 
the  bed.  "I  don't  want  that  kind  of  payment. 
I  don't  want  to  'ave  to  ask  for  thanks.  If 
you  ain't  got  the  sense  or  the  decency  to  be 
grateful  when  anyone  does  you  a  good  turn 
— why,  then,  you  can — you  can  go  to  'ell," 
she  shouted.  "Straightaway.  And  none  too 
soon  neither."    She  marched  to  the  door. 

"No;  but 'ere " 

212 


^winkletoes 


"Oh,  go  and  boil  yesself.  And  eat  it  after- 
wards." 

The  door  slammed. 

Perce  slouched  about  the  room,  hot  and, 
as  he  put  it,  fair  flummoxed.  He  had  no 
conscience;  it  had  been  stifled  by  the  pipe 
fumes ;  but  he  hated  to  hear  himself  and  his 
tendencies  described  so  fluently.  How  could 
anyone  get  interested  in  an  old  thing  like 
Cissie?  A  great  sprawling  thing  like  that. 
And  without  any  sort  of  what  d'ye  call  it. 
But  she'd  got  him.  Got  him  fair.  It  was 
fair  sickening.  He  looked  again  at  the  lamp 
and  the  tin,  and  regretted  that  he  had  left 
Limehouse  in  such  a  hurry  that  he  had  for- 
gotten his  pipe.  He  didn't  know  anybody  in 
Stepney  who  had  a  pipe,  or  any  place  nearer 
than  Limehouse  where  he  could  get  one.  She 
had  said  he  could  go  back.  But  that  was 
before  the  rumpus.  He  wondered  if  it  was 
still  safe.  Whether  she  would  blow  the  gaff 
on  him  at  once,  or  whether  he'd  have  time  to 
nip  down  to  a  certain  shop  in  Chinatown,  and 

213 


liwinkletoes 


get  a  pipe,  and  nip  away  to  a  certain  friend 
in  Netting  Dale  who  might  afford  him 
sanctuary. 

Then  his  thoughts  became  practical.  The 
sensible  thing  to  do  was  to  levant  at  once  for 
Notting  Dale.  She  was  in  a  wax,  and  she'd 
surely  do  it  on  him  at  the  first  available 
moment.  He  oughtn't  to  waste  a  moment. 
But  the  imagined  fumes  of  chandoo  floated 
about  his  face,  and  all  thoughts  of  safety 
sped  away.  He  w^anted  a  smoke.  He  must 
have  a  smoke.  He  looked  longingly  at  the 
lamp  and  the  tin.  Bliss  was  there;  only 
a  pipe  was  lacking.  Was  it  worth  risking? 
Foolish  hesitation.  One  smoke  was  worth 
any  amount  of  chances.  Besides,  even  if 
she  did  peach  on  him,  perhaps  they  wouldn't 
be  able  to  prove  anything.  After  all,  he'd 
passed  the  information.  He  might  turn 
King's  evidence.  But  supposing  he  did  get 
jugged.  Prison  was  a  horrible  place.  Why 
couldn't  he  make  up  his  mind  at  once?  If 
he  only  had  a  pipe  he  could  think  clearly 

214 


T'winkletoes 


after  a  smoke  and  know  exactly  what  was 
the  best  thing  to  do  and  how  to  do  it.  He 
ought  to  have  a  pipe,  because  then  he  would 
have  no  trouble  in  planning  a  get-away; 
the  best  place  to  go  to,  how  long  to  stay 
there,  and  how  to  fix  things  with  the  Notting 
Dale  bloke. 

Pipe  won. 

He  took  a  long  overcoat  and  a  blue  scarf 
and  cap,  and  went  forth  to  the  east.  He 
bought  a  pipe,  and  was  striding  along  to  the 
tramcar  trembling  with  anticipation  when  a 
bulky  figure  stopped  him. 

"Perce  Moxon.  ^Vant  a  word  with  vou," 
said  the  figure  with  terrifying  amiability. 

Perce  started  like  a  rabbit,  meditated 
flight,  but  found  his  legs  unwilling  to  serve 
him.  He  looked  up  and  saw  the  sonorous  per- 
sonality of  Divisional  Detective-Inspector 
Territon  standing  between  him  and  peace. 

"Let's  go  somewhere  where  it's  quiet,  so's 
we  can  talk,  shall  we?"  said  Divisional  De- 
tective-Inspector Territon  pleasantly. 

215 


l^zvinkletoes 


He  linked  a  friendly  arm  in  Perce's,  and 
took  him  across  the  road,  while  the  lad 
mumbled  obscene  oaths  to  himself,  the  pipe 
protruding  from  his  armpit  like  a  derisive 
tongue. 


216 


XI 

AFTER  leaving  Shantung  Place  by 
the  back  entrance  Chuck  Lightfoot 
did  not  go  home.  He  went  to  the 
house  of  a  boxing  friend  with  whom  he  some- 
times stayed  after  a  markedly  heavy  quarrel 
with  Cissie. 

There  he  washed  his  face  and  took  fresh 
clothes.  He  dressed  hastily,  carelessly.  He 
looked  with  surprise  upon  his  familiar  collar 
and  tie  and  boots.  It  seemed  queer  that 
these  commonplace  things  should  have  passed 
with  him  through  such  sickening  happenings 
without  change.  The  very  sight  of  them 
aroused  hatred ;  putting  them  on  for  the  last 
time  in  such  circumstances,  he  could  not  for- 
get how  he  had  arrayed  himself  in  them  in 
pleasant  days. 

At  eleven  o'clock  he  went  out,  coming,  by 
shy  alleys,  to  the  Quayside.  He  went  un- 
challenged through  the  front  of  the  house, 
and,  passing  through  a  heavy  door,  reached 
the  back.    He  climbed  to  Rose  leaf's  office. 

217 


T'winkletoes 


Roseleaf  was  standing  before  a  mirror  in 
which  he  caught  the  picture  made  by  Chuck 
in  the  doorway.    He  turned. 

"  'Ullo,"  he  said,  with  the  fatigued  affa- 
bility of  the  music  hall  manager.  "What  you 
doing  'ere  ?    Who  let  you  in  ?" 

"Walked  in." 

"Oh.  Well,  what's  yer  business — or  yer 
good  news  ?" 

"None.  Just  dropped  in  to  pass  the  time 
o'  day  and  what-not.  .  .  .  You  'ad  a  bit  of  a 
night  last  night  at  the  Lantern,  didn't  you?" 

"A  night?"  Roseleaf  chortled,  and  then 
stroked  his  head  with  a  suggestion  of  great 
suffering.  "Don't  ask  me.  Talk  about  a 
night!  Don't  know  wliether  this  is  Picca- 
dilly Circus  or  Good  Friday." 

"That's  an  old  one,"  said  Chuck.  "You 
got  that  from  Willie  Wangler.  But  I  'card 
about  the  night.  By  the  way,  what  'appened 
to  young  Twinkletoes — Monica  Minasi.  She 
'ad  a  good  oiling,  didn't  she?  Went  'ome 
wi'  you,  I  'card." 

218 


^winkletoes 


"All,  she  did.  Couldn't  shake  'er  orf. 
Never  knew  I  was  so  fascinating." 

"Urn.  'Er  old  Dad  can't  find  'er  no- 
where." 

"No?  Well,  don'  ask  me.  She  come  'ome 
wi'  me,  but  when  I  woke  up  'bout  eight 
o'clock  'smorning,  she  was  gorn.  I  dunno 
what  'appened.  I  was  too  boxed.  We  all 
were.  Fair  canned.  Up  to  the  Plimsoll 
mark.  What  a  night?  And  what  a  little 
red  wagon  that  kid  is.    'Strewth !" 

"I  believe  yeh,"  said  Chuck  appreciatively. 
He  entered  pleasantly  into  the  spirit  of  The 
Night.  "  'Er  old  Dad  see  'er  come  from  your 
place,  but  she  done  a  bunk  soon's  she  saw 


im. 


"Aha!  Didn't  want  to  be  caught  on  the 
naughty-naughty,  eh?" 

"That's  about  it."  He  leant  casually 
against  the  doorway,  smiling  and  chuckling 
in  response  to  Roseleaf,  who  rattled  on  at 
his  whimsical  confessions.  "Must  a-bin  a 
night.    Sorry  I  missed  it." 

219 


T^winkletoes 


"You'll  have  to  come  along  another  night," 
said  the  genial  adventurer.  "What  a  fur- 
nace! I  shall  never  remember  all  what 
'appened  after  we  left  the  Lantern  together 
— nor  won't  no  one  else.  Never  saw  a  crowd 
so  hinged  as  we  were.  If  you  got  a  'ead  like 
what  I  got  this  morning  you'd  be  raving  mad. 
I  got  some  kind  o'  faint  recollection  that 
when  we  got  indoors  we — aha!" 

"Aha!"  echoed  Chuck.  "I  bet  you  did. 
Trust  you.    And  then?" 

"Ah,  no.  No  telling  tales.  I  won't  give 
it  away.  Never  give  anyone  away  yet.  No 
one  can't  ever  say  that  o'  me.  ...  I  feel 
I  ought  t'ave  enjoyed  myself,  and  I  s'pose 
I  did;  but  'tain't  no  good  enjoying  yesself 
if  yeh  can't  remember  it,  is  it?  I  wonder 
what  she  feels  like  'smorning.  Pretty  rotten, 
I  guess,  what  with  one  thing  and  another. 
Well,  we  only  live  once,  and  I  say " 

He  stopped.  He  had  his  back  to  Chuck, 
and  was  standing  at  the  mirror  arranging  his 
elaborate  lilac-sprigged  neck-tie.     Through 

220 


'^winkletoes 


the  mirror  he  saw  that  Chuck  had  taken  four 
quick  steps,  and  now  stood  behind  him.  In 
his  hand  he  held  a  life-preserver.  It  was 
raised. 

Markie  Roseleaf  was  jerked  from  his  over- 
night stupor  with  a  cold  shock.  The  shock 
brought  a  certain  streak  of  sense  to  him. 
Sense  sufficient  to  stimulate  quick  thought; 
sufficient  to  realize  the  imminence  of  attack ; 
sufficient  to  know  that  he  must  act  at  once; 
sufficient  to  plan  four  ways  of  putting  Chuck 
fair  and  square  on  the  floor.  But  though 
his  brain  moved  rapidly,  it  was  moving  with- 
out control  from  him;  he  could  do  nothing. 
Through  the  mirror  he  saw  the  preserver 
descend. 

Markie  Roseleaf  dropped  in  an  untidy 
heap  before  his  mirror.  He  heard  Chuck 
say: 

"Die— you!     Die!     Fer  Twinkletoes !" 

Three  times  the  preserver  descended,  and 
Markie  Roseleaf  died  ere  his  lips  had  finished 
mumbling:  "  '&<? — stoii  it  now." 

221 


T^winkletoes 


Chuck  wiped  the  preserver  with  the  inside 
of  his  coat,  and  stuffed  it  in  his  trousers 
pocket.  Then  he  went  out,  carefully  closing 
and  locking  the  door  behind  him.  He  re- 
turned to  the  house  where  he  had  made  his 
toilet. 

•  •••••* 

Cissie  Lightf  oot  was  white  with  rage  as  she 
walked  from  Stepney  to  Poplar.  When  she 
reached  home  she  opened  a  bottle  of  beer 
and  ruminated,  while  swallowing  sobs  of 
mortification.  That  filthy  little  Perce  to 
turn  her  down !  She  had  not  only  done  him 
a  tremendous  service;  she  had  paid  him 
the  compliment  of  going  to  his  rooms;  and 
he  had  given  her  the  frozen  face.  However, 
she  had  settled  with  him:  a  few  words  to 
Territon  had  dragged  his  particular  pride  to 
dust. 

It  seemed  that  things  were  not  developing 

at  all  as  she  had  projected.     She  had  paid 

Twinkletoes,    the    principal    cause    of    her 

domestic  distress;  and  she  had  paid  Chuck 

222 


T^winkletoes 


and  others  of  the  gang  who  had  worshipped 
the  kid.  But  where  did  she  come  in?  She 
had  looked  to  receive  as  well  as  pay.  She 
had  overlooked  the  fact  that  disposing  of 
certain  troublesome  people  would  have  the 
effect  of  leaving  her  very  lonely ;  and  it  was 
only  when  she  realized  this  that  she  made 
her  random  cast  at  Perce,  who  should  have 
provided  solace,  lacking  anything  better. 
Now  that  he  had  thrown  her  down  she  was 
left  stranded,  and  she  began  to  cast  about 
her  for  some  possible  pickings. 

From  the  muddy  bottom  of  the  beer  bottle 
crawled  an  idea :  Twinkletoes. 

Nobody  knew  of  Cissie's  part  in  the  game. 
She  was  the  stricken  wife  of  a  bad  man  who 
had  brought  disgrace  upon  her  by  his  secret 
misdeeds.  That  disgrace  had  fallen  on  other 
people  too;  there  would  be  quite  a  lot  of 
trouble  around  Poplar.  Well,  now,  how 
commendable  it  would  be  if  the  stricken  wife 
should  come  forward  to  soothe  a  fellow- 
sufferer.     After   the    arrest    of   the    gang 

223 


T^winkletoes 


Twinkletoes  would  be  left  friendless  and 
probably  homeless,  for  since  her  behavior 
with  Roseleaf  no  respectable  people  would 
take  her  in.  But  one  of  the  sorrowing 
company  could  do  so  without  arousing 
neighborly  comment  other  than  approval  of 
a  praiseworthy  action. 

Yes,  she  would  do  the  beautiful  thing. 
She  would  take  Twinkletoes  into  her  home 
and  look  after  her;  and  she  could  explain 
to  any  who  wondered  that,  after  the  trouble 
she  herself  had  gone  through,  she  had  a 
fellow-feeling  for  others,  and  desired,  if 
possible,  to  rescue  Twinkletoes  from  the  evil 
associations  with  which  she  was  surrounded, 
so  that  the  child  should  have  every  chance 
of  avoiding  such  disaster  as  had  fallen  on 
Cissie,  and  be  safe  from  any  temptation  of 
getting  into  bad  hands  and  going  perma- 
nently wrong. 

The  more  she  rested  upon  the  idea  the 

more  closely  she  cuddled  it.    The  child  had 

never    suspected    her;    had    always    been 

224 


T^winkletoes 


friendly;  and  in  the  panic  that  would  seize 
her  at  the  downfall  of  her  little  world  she 
would  be  ready  to  fly  to  any  arms  that 
promised  a  haven. 

As  she  thought  of  that  white  flake  of  girl- 
hood, her  mind  turned  into  itself  and  wove 
intricate  patterns  from  certain  amiable 
dreams  which  had  frequently,  though  not 
markedly,  visited  her.  She  suffered  hectic 
raptures;  scaled  secret  topless  heavens.  All 
Poplar  would  know  by  now  what  kind  of 
child  was  T^^inkletoes.  She  would  let  the 
neighbors  know  that  she  intended  to  bring 
her  up  by  rigid  rules,  keep  her  straight. 
She  would  properly  guard  her,  and  whatever 
measures  she  might  find  it  necessary  to 
employ  would  be  universally  tolerated,  for 
all  would  recognize  the  need  for  a  firm  hand 
when  dealing  with  such  a  bad  girl.  She  would 
be  a  mother  to  her,  or,  in  the  event  of  her 
playing  any  more  wicked  games,  a  step- 
mother. 

She  chuckled.     She  inspected  her  hands 

225 


1^  winkle  toes 


as  she  pondered — long  cold  hands  and  arms 
that  hung  like  silver  swords.  Monstrous 
emblems  arose  in  her  mind  and  produced  a 
condition  of  agreeable  hebetude.  She  had 
cast  herself  for  the  part  of  stepmother,  and 
it  appealed  to  her;  it  contained  possibilities. 
With  Twinkletoes  on  call,  tedium  would  be 
pleasantly  negatived.  Beer  and  tobacco  and 
tea  were  losing  their  bite  on  her;  this  new 
distraction  promised  the  filling  of  many 
waste  hours  of  day  and  night;  and  she 
shivered  in  a  mood  of  intoxication  keener 
and  sweeter  than  any  that  alcohol  had  given 
her.  There  would  henceforth  be  no  need  to 
keep  beer  about  her;  when  she  wanted 
amusement  she  would  have  it  at  hand.  She 
drifted  into  reverie,  and  floated  on  adumbra- 
tions of  luxuriant  indulgence.  With  the  door 
of  her  ugly  room  locked,  the  blinds  down, 
and  the  crevices  of  the  windows  muffled 
.  .  .  she  stretched  her  hands  as  though 
Twinkletoes  were  already  within  grasp. 
Yes,  it  was  a  pleasant  idea.    She  would  have 

226 


l!winkletoes 


complete  license  to  do  as  she  liked,  and  there 
could  be  no  fear  of  subsequent  trouble,  for 
by  the  time  the  gang  came  out  of  prison  she 
would  be  in  other  quarters  with  Twinkletoes 
well  broken  to  her  will. 

Later  she  began  her  search  for  the  child. 
She  was  sure  to  be  somewhere  about.  She 
went  at  first  to  the  man  most  likely  to  know : 
one  Spud  Cohen,  who,  trading  as  Gaston 
Leclercq,  combined  various  businesses:  that 
of  variety  agent,  turf  commission  agent, 
moneylender,  private  inquiry  agent.  Spud 
Cohen,  like  Hank  Hogan,  knew  all  that 
happened  in  the  district ;  it  was  his  business, 
where  it  was  Hank's  pastime.  She  did  not 
go  to  Hank;  she  feared  to  make  too  many 
inquiries  in  that  quarter. 

Spud  Cohen  was  at  his  office — one  little 
room  in  East  India  Dock  Road.  He  was 
greasily  dark,  and  was  lazilj^  dressed  in  soup- 
splashed  clothes.  Rings  glittered  blatantly 
on  his  fat  fingers,  and  a  cigar  rode  jauntily 
on  his  lips.     His  features  were  small,  with 

227 


'Twinkletoes 


eyes  that  seemed  to  deny  their  existence. 

"I'm  looking  for  a  girl,"  said  Cissie. 

"So'ml.  We  all  are.  All  the  time.  Aha!" 

"Yes;  but  I  mean  a  partie'lar  one." 

"Who?" 

"Minasi's  kid — the  dancer.    Seen  'er?" 

"She  was  trotting  around  'ere.  Bin 
trotting  round  all  day,  I  think.  Looking 
scared  like." 

"Well,  I  want  to  see  'er  partie'lar.  If 
any  of  the  boys  come  across  'er  you  might 
get  'em  to  send  'er  along  to  me  at  my  place. 
Tell  'er  I  got  something  important  t'say." 

"Righto.  By  the  way,  Chuck's  mixed  up 
in  this  Minasi  business,  ain't  he?" 

"Yerss." 

"Bin  copped  yet?" 

"I  dunno.  Ain't  seen  'im  since  'smorning, 
and  then  'e  on'y  swore  at  me  and  marched 
on.    I  'spect  they  got  'im  by  now,  though." 

"Mm.    Nasty  business  fer  you.    Sorry." 

"Thanks.    Can't  be  'elped.    Don't  forget 

about  that  kid." 

228 


^winkletoes 


"Righto.  I'll  send  'er  along  if  we  come 
across  'er." 

At  four  o'clock  Cissie  heard  a  knock  at  the 
door,  and  when  she  opened  it  a  pale,  beaten 
figure  crawled  into  her  menacing  room.  All 
buoyance  was  gone  from  her  step,  all 
laughter  from  her  face,  all  tranquillity  from 
her  heart.  Her  legs  that  had  danced  so  many 
glad  legends  to  Poplar  people  lagged.  Her 
arms  hung  like  withered  flowers.  She  had 
been  across  the  river  all  day  at  Rotherhithe, 
wandering  and  dreaming  and  brooding.  The 
stupor  from  the  previous  night  had  been 
blown  away,  and  her  mind  and  body  were 
now  clear — clear  to  accept  all  the  misery  that 
had  been  hurled  upon  them.  If  only  she 
had  known,  it  wouldn't  have  been  so  bad. 
If  they  had  told  her,  if  she  had  been  aware 
all  along  of  her  old  Dad's  game,  she  would 
not  have  minded.  She  would  have  loved  him 
as  deeply,  and  his  little  aberrations  from 
honestly  would  not  have  troubled  her,  for 
she  had  a  great  capacity  for  smiling  on  sin 

229 


T^winkletoes 


and  roguery.  It  was  the  deceit  and  trickery 
that  so  hurt  her.  She  had  been  brought  up 
to  regard  theft  and  forgeiy  not  as  wicked 
things,  but  as  things  which  pleasant  people 
didn't  do.  She  had  been  brought  up  to 
regard  her  Dad  as  a  straight  man;  he  had 
carefully  nourished  that  illusion;  and  all 
the  time  he  had  been  a  bad  man.  If  only 
he  had  let  her  into  his  secret,  she  would  have 
supported  him  cheerfully.  But  to  think 
that  he  and  Chuck  and  Hank  Hogan  and 
the  Pearly  Prince  and  Dick  the  Duke  and 
Wallopy  had  all  been  in  this  conspiracy  to  do 
dirty  things  and  keep  all  knowledge  of  their 
ways  from  her,  and  leave  her  to  find  it  out 
after  the  whole  world  knew.  .  .  . 

If  she  had  known,  she  would  still  have 
admired  him,  still  have  kept  herself  straight, 
still  have  been  happy.  Instead,  she  had  been 
kept  in  the  dark,  and  now  that  light  had  come 
to  her  from  alien  skies  it  had  dazzled  and 
bemused  her. 

The  first  realization  of  her  position  came 

230 


T^winkletoes 


in  the  yellow  evening  when  a  far-away  organ 
gurgled  one  of  her  dance  tunes,  a  lonely 
melody  shot  with  the  sadness  of  happy  things 
enchained;  and  she  discovered  a  longing  for 
somewhere  to  rest,  for  some  face  that  she 
knew,  some  familiar  background. 

People  recognized  her  in  the  street,  and 
pitied  her,  but  passed  without  the  customary 
greeting,  kindly  or  flippant.  Trouble  was 
coming  to  the  Minasi  group,  they  had  heard, 
and  when  they  saw  her  they  passed  to  the 
ether  side  or  disappeared  into  shops.  It  was 
none  of  their  business.  You  see,  you  could 
never  tell.  You  might  easy  get  mixed  up  in 
a  thing  like  that,  and  have  to  go  to  court  as 
a  witness,  and  have  your  name  printed  in  the 
papers,  and  everything;  and  look  at  the  dis- 
grace and  the  exhibition  you  made  of  yourself 
then. 

Thoughts  of  her  companions  came  to  her, 
but  she  felt  that  she  could  not  face  Dad,  even 
if  he  were  free  and  she  could  find  him,  and 
she  didn't  want  Lilac  or  Wallopy  or  the 

231 


T^winkletoes 


Pearly  Prince.  There  remained  Chuck,  and 
it  was  to  Chuck  that  she  instinctively  turned. 
As  his  name  came  to  her,  she  suffered  a 
gnawing  hunger  for  his  stolid  presence;  he 
would  understand.  So  she  returned  immedi- 
ately to  Limehouse,  through  the  Rotherhithe 
Tunnel,  and  at  its  mouth  she  met  a  lad  who 
gave  her  Mrs  Lightfoot's  message.  At  once 
she  sped  to  the  Lightfoot  home,  connecting 
Chuck  with  the  message  and  thinking  to  find 
him  there. 

"I  'card  you  'ad  something  to  tell  me,"  she 
said,  as  she  stood  before  the  smiling  Cissie. 

"Yes,  dear.  Sit  down.  I  was  wondering 
about  you.     What  you  going  to  do  now  ?" 

"Oh,  I  dunno.     Where's  Chuck?     Ain't 
e  eref 

"No.  I  dunno  where  'e  is.  I  ain't  seen 
'im  all  day.  I  expect  'e's  copped,  same's  as 
your  father." 

"Dad  copped?" 

"Um." 

"Oh!    Oh,  lemme  find  Chuck!" 

232 


I'winklefoes 


"Well,  now,  never  mind  Chuck.  You're 
in  trouble,  dearie,  and  I  don't  know  what'll 
become  of  you,  things  being  as  they  are.  So 
I  thought  I'd  better  find  you  and  look  after 
you.  You  won't  be  able  to  keep  that  'ouse 
up,  and  you'll  probably  get  the  sack  from 
the  Quayside  over  last  night.  You  was 
silly  not  to  come  away  from  'im  when  I  told 
vou.    However,  it's  done  now.    So  I'm " 

But  Twinkletoes  was  not  listening.  She 
stood  limply,  with  a  distant  expression  on  her 
face. 

"I  want  Chuck,"  she  said  stupidly. 

"I  tell  you  'e  ain't  'ere.  You're  going 
to  stop  with  me  now,  and  I'll  see  that  you 
don't  get  into  any  further  mischief.  You'll 
be  all  right  with  me,  dearie."  She  looked 
fondly  at  the  child,  and  found  herself  all-of- 
a-trembling  at  the  limitless  prospect  before 
her.  The  forlorn,  helpless  figure  set  her 
pulses  leaping  as  though  some  strange  beast 
were  inside  her. 

"No,  I  want  Chuck.     I  want  to  talk  to 

233 


^winkletoes 


Chuck.     Ain't  'e  coming  back  'ere  soon?" 

"No,  I  tell  yeh.     Come  'ere  to  me,  child." 

"I  must  find  Chuck.    I  must." 

"No,  you  mustn't.  You're  not  going  out 
again  to-day,  me  lady.  If  no  one  else  won't 
look  after  yeh,  I  will.  And  later  on  you'll 
thank  me.  You'll  thank  me  for  taking  care 
of  yeh.  You're  going  to  be  my  little  girl 
now,  and  now  I've  got  you  'ere  you'll  stay 
'ere.  You  bad  girl.  If  you  think  you're 
going  off  gallivanting  again  to-night,  you're 
wrong.  Just  because  yer  Dad's  gorn,  don't 
think  yeh  can  do  what  yeh  like.  Them  that's 
older'n  you  will  'ave  to  look  after  you  and 
stop  you  from  doing  dirty  tricks  that'll 
lead  you  to  don't  know  what.  My  'usband 
worked  fer  your  Dad,  so  the  least  I  can  do  is 
to  look  after  the  boss'  kid." 

"Oh,  don't.    I  want  Chuck." 

"It's  all  through  yer  Dad's  spoiling  you 
that  yeh've  gorn  wrong.  I'm  going  to  make 
it  my  business  to  see  that  yeh  don't  go  wrong 
again.  See,   child?  And   when   you've   got 

234 


twinkle  toes 


over  this  nasty  mood  you'll  thank  me.  See? 
No  nonsense,  now.  What  you  want  Chuck 
for?  Always  'anging  round  my  'usband  you 
are,  yeh  nasty  girl.  I  believe  you  got  some- 
thing on  with  'im,  yeh  dirty  thing!  You're 
not  going  out  again.  Best  place  fer  you  is 
bed.  Go  on.  Get  into  the  bedroom,  and 
don't  let  me  'ear  another  word  from  veh." 

"No.     I  got  to  see  Chuck." 

She  turned  away.  Cissie  darted  forward. 
"Stop  'ere — you.    Don't  you  dare " 

But  Twinkletoes  had  turned  the  handle. 
Cissie  stretched  a  long  arm  and  grabbed  one 
of  the  drooping  curls.  With  a  swift  move- 
ment Twinkletoes  turned  and  struck  the 
hand  away,  and  scuttered  down  the  stairs. 
Cissie  rushed  to  the  landing.  "Come  back 
— you.     Come    back.     Stop    'er,    someone. 

You "    Then:  "Gorn.    Damn  and  blast 

'er.  After  Chuck,  too,  the  little  cat.  Nev' 
mind.  I'll  get  'er  to-morrow.  I'll  get 
Territon  on  to  'er,  and  get  'em  to  detain  'er. 
And  when  I  do  get  'er  .  .  . " 

235 


XII 

WHEN  Chuck  returned  to  his  tem- 
porary lodging  after  settling  his 
account  with  Markie  Roseleaf  he 
fell  into  a  chair  before  an  empty  grate  and 
wandered  in  a  night  of  thought.  He  thought 
of  his  first  meeting  with  Twinkletoes;  how 
the  loveliness  of  her  had  swept  into  his  dusty 
soul  and  cleared  it  of  many  foul  spots ;  how, 
though  he  had  sunk  into  a  pool  of  drink,  his 
mind,  through  his  squalid  defiance  of  life, 
had  been  sweeter  and  cleaner  than  it  was 
when  he  had  accepted  life  and  lived 
straightly.  It  seemed  strange  that  this 
should  be  so ;  but  he  was  no  philosopher,  and 
he  let  it  pass.  He  thought  of  his  common- 
place marriage,  and  the  terrible  woman  who 
was  Mrs.  Lightfoot.  He  thought  of  his  early 
athletic  days  when  nothing  worried  him; 
when  he  knew  nothing  of  beauty  or  of  love, 
and  was  content.  He  thought  of  the  storms 
that  Twinkletoes  had  brought  into  his  placid 

career. 

236 


Twinkletoes 


Since  he  had  known  her  he  had  seen  his 
life  and  its  surrounding  from  a  detached 
point,  and  all  had  seemed  dirty.  All  his 
possessions  became  mean.  Limehouse  was 
dirty.  Boxing  was  a  dirty  game.  The  Blue 
Lantern  was  dirty.  Beer-drinking  was  dirty. 
His  wife  and  his  home  were  dirty.  His  early 
disregard  of  the  dirt  had  been  dirty.  His 
habits  and  speech  were  squalid.  There  was 
nowhere  any  touch  of  the  decencies,  the  finer 
lights  of  existence.  He  felt  that  all  folk 
must  despise  him  as  he  despised  himself. 
All  those  things  which  were  not  part  of  the 
glory  of  Twinkletoes  he  loathed.  At  sight 
of  her  he  would  become  precipitately  abject: 
a  thing  of  no  account.  Everything  pertain- 
ing to  him  was  without  wholesomeness  and 
dirty;  so  dirty,  he  felt,  that,  however  he 
labored,  he  should  never  fully  cleanse  it. 
Wherefore  he  let  it  go,  contented  himself 
with  loving  Twinkletoes  and  refreshing  his 
soul,  while  his  animal  self  added  dirt  to  dirt 
through  the  doors  of  the  Blue  Lantern. 

237 


l^winkletoes 


But  that  was  all  over.  He  was  through. 
At  last  his  hell  had  burnt  itself  out,  and  he 
was  free  of  further  torments.  He  sat,  unable 
to  move,  for  many  hours,  until  the  wide  after- 
noon shrank  imperceptibly  into  scrupulous 
dusk,  and  snow  began  dejectedly  to  fall. 

It  fell  upon  a  slinking,  pursued  little  figure 
that  crept  towards  this  house,  her  black  frock 
fluttering  against  the  whitened  street  like  a 
great  moth.  At  the  house  she  hesitated; 
then  moved  to  the  window  which  stood  flush 
with  the  street.  The  blind  was  up,  and,  as 
she  peered,  she  saw,  and  gave  a  half- 
strangled  gasp  of  relief  at  the  slack  form  of 
Chuck,  head  on  chest,  stretched  in  a  chair. 
She  tapped  the  window.  He  looked  up 
swiftly.  "Oh,  Chuck,  Chuck,  I  want  you," 
she  Vv'hispered  to  herself. 

He  stood  for  a  moment  blinking  at  the 
window  and  the  round,  peering  face  that 
filled  it,  as  a  man  might  at  some  improbable 
ghost. 

Then  he  opened  the  door,  and  she  tottered 

238 


l!wmkletoes 


in,  her  little  shoulders  powdered  with  snow, 
her  throat  and  young  breast  wet  with  it.  She 
tottered  in  and  fell  to  the  low  chair. 

"Oh,  Chuck,  Chuck!" 

"Twinkles!  Oh,  my  dear.  My  sweet!" 
was  all  he  found  to  saj^ 

He  went  to  her,  and  knelt  before  her,  and 
she  clung  to  him  as  to  the  only  tangible, 
steadfast  thing  in  a  world  of  shadows.  Arms 
locked,  breast  to  breast,  they  lay  until  the 
dark  came,  and  the  frail,  heaving  body  found 
rest.  Then  she  talked  stupidly,  as  people  talk 
whose  sensibilities  are  in  suspended  animation, 

"Oh,  Chuck,  why's  all  this  'appened? 
Why's  it  all  come  like  this?  Dad  a  swindler, 
JNIe  gorn  wrong.  You  a  swindler.  Prince 
and  Duke  and  Wallopjr — all  swindlers.  All 
going  to  prison.  Oh,  why  wasn't  I  told  about 
it?  Going  on  all  this  time.  And  I  trusted 
Dad  and  everybody  so.  I  thought  they  w^as 
all  good.    Seems  like  everybody's  bad." 

Chuck  crouched  in  silence.  There  was  no 
defence. 

239 


'Twinkletoes 


"Twinks,"  he  said  at  last,  "it's  funny., 
.  .  .  We've  all  bin  bad  'im's,  and  all  this 
'as  'appened  'cos  of  you." 

"Me?" 

"Um.  Your  Dad  wasn't  bad.  'E  done 
what  'e  done  'cos  of  you.  'E  done  it  just  to 
get  enough  money  to  give  you  a  chance,  and 
then  'e  meant  to  drop  it.  'E  'ated  doing  it. 
And  'e  wouldn't  do  lots  o'  things  'e  might 
'ave  done  that'd  bring  in  a  lot  o'  money. 
Just  enough  to  get  you  started — that  was 
all  'e  w^anted.  And  'e  worshipped  you  so. 
Like  me. 

"Twinks,  I  ain't  got  much  time  left. 
They'll  be  after  me,  soon.  But  you  know, 
sweet'eart,  'ow  I've  loved  you,  don't  you? 
I  'ave.  Love  you  like  I  never  loved  anything 
before.  You'll  never  know  what  you  was  to 
me.  You're  so  young  and  I'm  older,  but  I 
loved  only  you.  Nobody's  ever  loved  me. 
All  my  life  I've  wanted  to  be  M^anted.  Chaps 
are  like  that,  reely,  more'n  girls.     When  I 

first  see  you,  there  was  something — some- 

240 


T^winkletoes 


thing — I  dunno.  I  knew  nothing'd  be  the 
same  afterwards.  I  knew  you  was  part  of 
my  life  then." 

She  moaned  and  leaned  towards  him,  but 
took  his  declaration  of  love  without  foolish 
wonderment.  Subconsciously  she  had  known 
his  feelings  about  her.  He  took  her  fragile 
form  again  into  his  arms,  and  kissed  her  cold 
cheek  and  her  lips,  murmuring:  "O  lovely, 
my  lovely!"  Lips  locked  to  lips  they  lay  in 
the  austere  intoxication  of  first  love;  and 
even  while  his  mind  cried  at  what  he  felt  to 
be  sacrilege,  he  showered  kisses  upon  her  face 
and  neck.  It  didn't  matter.  It  was  the  last 
time.  The  end  was  near.  Something  enor- 
mous and  supernally  beautiful  came  to  him  in 
those  embraces.  He  became  transfigured. 
He  discovered  some  new  strength  in  himself ; 
some  revealed  significance  in  common  things 
and  the  squalid  story  of  which  he  was  a  part. 

"Twinkles,  my  lovely.  That's  the  first  and 
last  time  I  shall  ever  kiss  you.  Funny — but 
it  seems  like  there's  something  behind  all  this. 

241 


^winkletoes 


Something  kind  of  big — better  than  us.  It's 
all  round  everything;  sort  of  as  if  you'd 
found  something  you'd  bin  looking  for  a  long 
time  and  then  forgotten.  You — so  lovely 
and  good — and  then  all  the  trouble,  and — 
and  everything.  And  if  you,  dear,  'adn't 
been  so  lovely  and  good  it  wouldn't  never 
'ave  'appened.  I  wouldn't  a-done  what 
started  it." 

"What  started  it?" 

"Um.  Me  going  fer  young  Perce — ^that 
was  what  started  it.  When  'e  messed  you 
about  that  day.    I  thrashed  'im." 

"Oh,  Chuck." 

"Your  Dad  was  just  throwing  up  the 
crooked  business,  and  nobody 'd  ever  'ave 
'card  anything  about  it  if  we'd  stopped  then. 
But  my  missus  got  'old  of  Perce.  She  knew 
I  loved  you  and  she  'ated  you  and  me  'cos  of 
it.  So  she  got  back  on  both  of  us  by  putting 
Perce  up  to  giving  us  away,  knowing  'e  owed 
me  a  grudge  fer  that  thrashing." 

"Oh,  what's  the  matter  with  me  that  I've 

242 


Hwinkletoes 


brought  all  this  on  ev'body?  And  you, 
Chuck — I  was  alwis  fond  of  you.  You  was 
so  splendid  and  strong  and  kind.  What  did 
you  go  in  for  the  dirty  work  for?" 

"I  din'  go  in  fer  it  until  after  yer  Dad  'ad 
started  it,  and  I  met  you.  I  was  driv  to  it, 
Twinks.  By  you.  It  was  'ell  'cos  I  loved 
j-ou,  and  you  wouldn't  never  be  anything  to 
me,  and  my  missus  gave  me  'ell  too  'cos  I  got 
fed  up  on  'er.  I  couldn't  face  things  after  I 
met  you.    Nothing  seemed  good  'cept  you." 

"Oh,  me — good!"  she  said  ironically. 

"So  I  went  on  the  drink,  and  then  got  in 
with  your  Dad's  business.  It  was  all  that 
Avas  left." 

"It  seems  such  a  muddle,  don't  it.  Chuck? 
And  I  never  knew  nothing.  Me  doing  all 
tliis.  And  all  I  wanted  to  do  was  to  make 
ev'body  'appy." 

"  Yerss,  I  know.  But  there  y'are.  Things 
go  their  own  way;  and  you  can't  help  'em." 

She  broke  down  in  a  little  tempest  of  sobs. 
"People  used  to  love  me  so,  and  say  I  was 

243 


l!winkletoes 


pretty  and  make  'em  feel  good,  and  all  I 
do  is  to  bring  rottenness  everywhere.  All 
this  'cos  I  made  people  love  me.  Oh,  Chuck, 
do  you  remember  our  afternoons  in  the 
Works  when  we  was  so  'appy?" 

"Yes,  dear,  I  remember.     But  I  wasn't 
'appy.     I  w  as  miserable,  reely,  but " 


"I'm  sorry.  More  sorry  now.  .  .  .  And 
do  you  remember  the  night  at  the  party  when 
Wallopy  made  that  speech  about  me — and 
the  things  I  said?  I  never  thought  what  was 
coming.  Silly  fool — I  thought  everything 
was  going  on  always  like  that.  Then,  do 
you  remember  that  night  I  come  to  see  you 
fight  at  Battling's  Ring — and  you  gave  me 
one  of  your  gloves  after  the  fight?  I've  got 
it  still — at  home — in  my  drawer.  And  how  I 
told  you,  first  time  I  met  you — that  I'd  be 
your  sweetheart.  I  didn't  understand  then, 
Chuck.  I  do  now.  I  know  such  a  lot  now. 
Chuck." 

"Oh,  my  dear,  I  remember.  All  of  it. 
But  don't  talk  about  it.  It'll  only  hurt  you 

244 


^winklctoes 


worse.  I  ain't  told  you  all  yet,  Twinks. 
Your  Dad  was  arrested  to-day.  He  could 
'ave  made  a  clear  case  and  got  off.  Some- 
body was  giving  us  a  chance.  They  couldn't 
'ave  proved  much  against  'im.  But  when 
'e  'card  what  'appened  to  you,  'e  didn't  seem 
to  care  like.  Lost  all  interest.  Waited  for 
'em,  and  when  they  came  'e  confessed.  I 
'card  about  it.  Twinks,  m'l  ask  you  a 
question?" 

"Um." 

He  hesitated,  searching  for  delicate  words 
and  finding  none.  "Twinks — what  made  you 
go  to  the  Lantern  last  night  and  go  wrong 
with  Roseleaf  ?" 

"Oh,  I  dunno.  I  was  mad.  Everybody 
knew  about  Dad,  and  when  I  got  to  the 
theatre  all  the  girls  chipped  me  and  ragged 
me.  And  when  I  found  it  was  true  I  didn't 
care  what  I  did.  Nothing  seemed  to  matter 
then.  If  *e'd  gorn  wrong  there  was  nothing 
for  me  to  keep  straight  for.  Then  I  got  mad 
and  didn't  care  what  I  did.      Dad  was  a 

245 


T^winkletoes 


forger,  and  never  let  me  know.  Deceiving 
me  like  that." 

"Yes;  but,  Twinks,  don'  be  'ard  on  'im. 
'E  didn't  like  doing  it  and  'e  done  it  all  fer 
you." 

"Um.  That's  what's  so  awful  about  it. 
Everybody  who  loved  me  seems  to  'ave 
copped  out.  All  through  me.  Me — Monica 
Minasi — a  kid." 

"There's  still  something  else  you  got  to 
'ear,  Twinks.  You  won't  never  see  me  again, 
I  sha'n't  never  come  out  o'  prison." 

"Chuck — no,  no!" 

"Yes.    Y'know  Roseleaf  ?" 

"Um." 

"I  went  round  and  killed  'im  'smorninff." 

She  gave  a  short  scream,  and  her  eyes  held 
terror.    "Killed?"  she  whispered.    "Killed?" 

"Yes.  'Cos  of  what  'e  done  to  you  last 
night." 

She  sagged  from  his  arms  and  lay  limp, 
staring  upon  him  with  stricken  eves  and 
dropped  mouth.     The  tortures  of  the  last 

246 


'T'wmkletoes 


twenty-four  hours  had  deadened  her  senses, 
and  it  was  some  time  before  this  fresh  blow 
brought  with  it  fresh  pain. 

She  pressed  her  hands  to  her  ears.  "Oh! 
Oh!    Me — again?    And  you'll  be " 

"Yes.  I  felt  like  killing  my  missus  too. 
It  started  with  'er.  But  I  didn't.  I'll  let 
'er  live  it  out." 

"Oh!  Oh!  You  murdered  someone?" 
She  suddenly  thrust  out  her  legs,  and 
screamed  silly  screams  and  laughed.  "Forg- 
ing. Murdering.  Getting  drunk.  Going 
like  a  street  girl.  Aha!  So  this  is  what 
loving  people  means.  Is  it  like  this  with 
ev'body?  And  we  was  so  'appy."  There 
came  a  swift  revulsion  of  feeling.  She  flung 
herself  forward  and  upon  Chuck,  screaming: 
"Save  me!  Save  me!  Oh,  Chuck — save  me. 
Me  and  you.     Save  yourself.     You  can't 

be Oh,  save  me!     I'm  so  frightened!" 

She  flung  impassioned  arms  about  him. 

He  grew  delirious  and  babbled  foolish 
words.    "Oh,  my  little  love,  my  little  sweet- 

247 


T^winkletoes 


'eart.  Oh,  I  can't.  I  can't  do  nothing  for 
yeh.  My  little  bird.  O  lovely  girl.  O  little 
princess,  I  can't  'elp  you." 

She  pushed  him  away  and  tumbled  in  a 
heap  to  the  chair,  wailing  and  crooning  and 
making  noises  terrible  to  hear. 

"Oh,  what's  to  become  of  me?  Oh,  Jesus, 
save  me.  I  ain't  done  nothing  to  deserve  all 
this.  I'm  on'y  a  kid.  I  ain't  got  nowhere  to 
go  now.  Mrs.  Lightfoot  'ates  me.  I'm 
ruined.  Disgraced  forever.  I  ain't  got  no 
friends  to  go  to.    Oh,  God,  God." 

"Twinkles,  Twinkles.  Don't.  You  'urt 
me  so.  It  ain't  no  good.  It's  all  'appened 
like  this.    'Tain't  nobody's  fault." 

She  lay  back  and  panted,  and  after  a  while 
grew  calmer. 

Presently  she  spoke:  "Chuck — get  me  a 
drop  o'  water." 

He  went  to  the  back  of  the  house  for  the 
water.     When  he  returned  with  it  she  was 


gone. 

He  set  it  on  the  mantleshelf  and  looked 

248 


l!  winkle  toes 


at  the  black  grate  and  then  at  the  chair  where 
she  had  sat. 

"Ah,  well,"  he  said.    "Ah,  well,"  and  flung 
the  water  into  the  fireplace. 

Later  he  went  out  and  called  at  the  Blue 
Lantern. 

"Pint  o'  the  Old,  Dickery." 

He  looked  at  the  pint  of  the  Old,  and 
remembered  how  often  he  had  looked  at 
similar  pints  in  this  bar;  and  he  fumbled 
with  the  thought  that  this  would  be  the  last 
time  he  would  look  at  a  pint.  He  thought 
of  all  the  commonplace  acts  of  his  daily  day, 
and  they  became  alive  with  interest  and 
strangely  lovely.  He  thought  of  his  morning 
walk  to  the  Works,  and  the  people  he  met 
as  he  passed  down  the  street.  He  thought 
of  his  bus  rides  to  the  west,  and  the 
elaborate  bars  where  he  met  the  successful 
boys  who  placed  the  spurious  notes  manu- 
factured by  Minasi.  He  remembered  how 
the  morning  sunshine  fell  on  the  streets,  on 
St.  Paul's  Cathedral,  on  Temple  Bar,  on  the 

249 


^winkletoes 


Gaiety  Theatre,  and  he  remembered  these 
places  as  the  most  beautiful  of  all  landmarks. 
He  thought  of  his  beer  and  bread-and-cheese 
at  eleven  o'clock;  of  his  cup  of  tea  at  the 
Works  with  Twinkletoes;  of  the  sociable 
evenings  with  the  boys;  of  his  Sunday 
jaunts  to  the  Forest;  of  his  morning  shave; 
of  his  Saturday  night  bath;  and  the  pain- 
fully romantic  Saturday  evenings  when  he 
watched  Twinkletoes  dancing  at  the  Quay- 
side; and  he  could  have  wept  for  the  hidden 
charm  of  these  things  suddenly  revealed  to 
his  parting  glance.  They  sped  through  his 
mind  in  the  brief  moment  between  stretching 
his  hand  to  the  tankard  and  grabbing  it  and 
drinking  largely.  Then,  as  the  stuff  assuaged 
the  scorching  of  his  throat,  he  was  instantly 
cold  and  calm. 

Hank    Hogan   was   in  his   corner,    sup- 
pressing, at  great  strain,  the  news  of  the  day. 

"  'Lo,  Chuck.    'Eard  about  it?" 

"What?" 

"  'Bout  Roseleaf." 

250 


twinkle  toes 


"Yes,  I  'eard  about  it.  Found  dead, 
wasn  t  e  { 

"Ar.  Smashed  to  pieces.  Rotten  business 
last  day  or  two,  ain't  it?" 

"Yes;  ev'body's  copping  the  knock." 

"Ar.  They  got  the  Dook  and  the  Prince 
and  Wailopy  to-day.  Minasi  give  'imself  up, 
too."  He  lowered  his  voice.  "They  ain't 
got  you  yet.  Can  they  pinch  you  on  it,  or 
are  you  fixed?" 

"Oh  no.    They'll  'ave  me  when  they  like." 

"Ar.    Wonder  who  done  Roseleaf  in?" 

"I  wonder." 

Hank  looked  closely  at  him.  Chuck  met 
the  glance. 

"  'E  cert'ny  asked  for  it,"  said  Hank. 

"  'E  did.    An'  'e  got  it." 

"Ar." 

Again  they  exchanged  glances.  Then  Hank 
looked  away  and  became  silent.  There  was 
never  a  man  like  Hank  for  minding  his  own 
business  at  the  right  moment.  Chuck  fin- 
ished his  pint  and  moved  to  the  door. 

251 


1^  winkle  toes 


"Well,  so  long,  old  'un." 

"So  long,  lad."  Then,  as  an  afterthought : 
"Goo'  luck." 

"Thanks." 

Chuck  turned  into  the  main  road  and  pro- 
ceeded to  a  blue  lamp  some  two  hundred 
yards  away.  He  walked  into  the  station  and 
went  to  the  sergeant  at  the  desk. 

"I  done  a  murder." 

"Didn't  quite  catch." 

"I  done  a  murder." 

"Where?" 

"Markie  Roseleaf,  manager  of  the  Quay- 
side. In  'is  room.  Bashed  'is  'ead  in.  I 
done  it  with  this." 

He  planked  the  preserver  on  the  desk. 

"Yes.  Consider  yourself  detained,  pend- 
ing inquiries." 

•  •••••• 

It  was  a  night  of  storm.  A  shrill  sky 
screamed  of  sleet.  Great  gales  rushed  from 
the  river,  annoying  loose  windows.     Shop 

signs  swung  grotesquely  and  complained  in 

252 


l^winkletoes 


creaking  voices.  Skirts  and  coats  were  flung 
and  buffeted,  and  hats  flew  and  lamplights 
flickered.  Nothing  that  was  not  heavy  or 
made  fast  was  allowed  to  stand.  The  wind 
took  everything  broadside  on,  with  full,  con- 
sidered hammer  strokes,  or  in  swift  swirls, 
darting  in  with  a  hundred  light  blows  from 
this  side  and  that.  Ropes  in  the  Docks 
whistled.  Cranes  jerked  and  jangled. 
Brown  sails  bellied  and  slapped  themselves 
with  determined  glee. 

The  river,  of  the  hue  of  molten  steel, 
heaved  and  rushed  angrily,  slucking  against 
staples  and  barges,  or  rising  in  ineffectual 
splashes  to  the  low-lying  wharves. 

The  little  waves  and  spears  of  water 
seemed,  to  the  girl  who  had  reached  a  wharf 
by  climbing  from  the  bridge  to  the  Isle  of 
Dogs,  to  be  so  many  arms  stretched  in 
invitation.  Before  her  stretched  the  yellow- 
starred  length  of  water;  behind  her  was  a 
lofty  street  of  houses,  at  the  expansive  mid- 
night loud  with  humanity,  now,  at  ten  o'clock 

253  * 


^winkletoes 


feebly  lit,  reticent,  forbidding.  Aided  by 
the  gale,  noises  flowed  from  mid-stream  with 
fluid  ease. 

Twinkletoes,  her  lemon-colored  curls 
streaming  from  her  head  in  a  furious  bid  for 
flight,  stood  with  her  tiny  hands  outstretched 
against  the  wooden  supports.  She  had  come 
there  to  ask  why.  And  sometimes  she 
choked  with  incipient  sobs  and  sometimes  she 
moaned  her  thoughts. 

This  was  the  end.  Her  god — her  old  Dad 
— the  maker  of  her  character — had  fallen. 
All  her  beauty,  her  high  character,  her  gladly 
nourished  ideals,  gone  to  dust;  and  in  the 
going  carried  disaster  to  those  she  most 
loved.  Now,  at  the  moment,  she  was  learn- 
ing the  lesson  that  we  may  place  our  trust  in 
nothing  but  our  own  souls ;  for,  when  all  our 
faith  rests  upon  one  idol,  and  the  idol  falls, 
it  falls  upon  the  faithful  heart. 

No  more  would  her  romantic  legs  twinkle 
for  the  delight  of  Poplar,  or  her  expressive 
arms  gather  in  their  thousand  woes.     No 

254 


^iDinkletocs 


more  would  her  baby  body  flit  about  the 
streets  scattering  smiles  of  carnival  and 
goodfellowship.  No  more  would  folk  wait 
to  hear  her  light  feet  chattering  to  the 
asphalt  pavements,  to  see  her  break  the  dusk 
with  colored  frock  and  daring  ribbons  hang- 
ing about  her  like  petals  of  a  flower,  the 
whisk  of  them  kissing  the  little  stockinged 
knees.  No  more  would  the  gallery  boys 
cry:  "Are  we  to  part  like  this,  Bill?"  In 
vain  would  they  shout:  "We — want — 
Twinkletoes!" 

Perhaps  an  hour  later  her  question  was 
answered. 

Perhaps  she  knew  why  all  that  is  sweet  and 
clean  and  true  must  ever  be  bruised  and 
broken  to  make  easier  the  jungle  of  life  for 
the  cruel  and  the  faithless.  Perhaps  she 
knew  why  beauty  and  character  must  be 
held  at  such  a  hideous  price.  Perhaps  those 
tiny  hands  that  had  so  often  supplicated  to 
bunches  of  violets  did  not  supplicate  in  vain 
for  an  understanding  of  all  the  weeping  that 

255 


T^winkletoes 


had  been  brought  upon  her  little  kingdom. 
Perhaps  those  tiny  hands  that  had  so  often 
soothed  the  querulous  or  caressed  the  lovable 
gathered  elsewhere  some  share  of  balm  for 
her  throbbing  wounds.  Perhaps  that  lovely 
little  heart,  wracked  with  more  tortures 
than  it  was  ever  made  to  bear,  found  a  kind 
resting-place  enduring  when  the  radiant 
limbs  and  happy  body  were  no  more. 

In  the  four-ale  bar  of  the  Blue  Lantern 
Hank  Hogan  lounged  in  his  comer,  and 
Dickery-Dock  attended  him. 

"Difference  it's  made,  ain't  it?"  said 
Dickery. 

"Ar." 

"If  anyone'd  told  me  all  this  would  'ave 
'appened  in  about  a  week — all  at  once,  as 
you  might  say — I'd  a-called  'im  a  liar. 
Wouldn't  you?" 

"Ar." 

"Chuck  gom.  The  Dook  and  the  Prince 
collared.     Minasi  waiting  fer  trial.     Perce 

256 


^whzkletoes 


lagged.  And  liT  Twinkletoes  disappeared. 
.  .  .  Sickening,  ain't  it?" 

Hank  Hogan  looked  through  the  open 
door  to  the  evening  life  of  the  Lantern 
comer.  The  cars  were  still  running.  The 
Lascars  were  still  jungle-treading.  The 
golden  boys  and  girls  w-ere  still  "clicking." 
The  straight  form  of  Division-Inspector 
Territon  still  moved  from  point  to  point. 
He  himself  was  still  drinking  beer.  But  the 
goodly  company  who  made  the  Blue  Lantern 
worth  while  .  .  . 

"Yerss,"  he  said,  "nothing  don't  seem  the 
same.  Fair  sickening.  But  there  y'are. 
That's  alwis  the  way." 

At  the  window  of  her  cottage  sat  Cissie 
Lightfoot,  her  vindicative  fingers  gripping 
a  tarnished  Bouquet  novelette.  She  was 
smiling,  intent  on  some  sociable  thought,  her 
dull  eyes  lit  by  a  secret  flame.  She  too 
looked  upon  the  soft  evening,  but  the  absence 
of  certain  characters  was  by  no  means  fair 
sickening    to    her.     She    looked    upon    the 

257 


I^winkletoes 


parading  girls,  moving  with  the  demure, 
steadfast  carriage  of  adolescence.  The  im- 
perious urge  of  youth  raced  under  their 
translucent  skin.  Thev  were  awake  for 
love,  and  soon  Tunnel  Gardens  would  be 
delicately  noisy  with  laughter  of  those 
caressing  and  being  caressed. 

As  she  looked  upon  their  sylph-like  forms 
she  thought  of  many  things,  and  the  thoughts 
seemed  to  satisfy.  She  thought  of  Twinkle- 
toes,  who  had  been  just  such  a  one:  asking 
for  it  and  getting  it  where  it  hurt  most. 
She  thought  of  Chuck,  and  decided  that  she 
had  done  well.  He  had  told  her  to  lay  an 
egg,  and  she  had  laid  it,  and  had  made  him 
look  silly,  as  she  had  threatened.  She  had 
asserted  herself,  and  made  him  realize  her. 
She  thought  of  Old  Dad  in  his  cell,  awaiting 
the  Central  Assizes,  and  of  Roseleaf. 

"Serve  'em  all  right,"  she  thought.  "They 
asked  for  it.  Damn  clever  they  were,  but 
what's  it  brought  'em?  After  all  their 
games  what's  it  brought  'em  ?" 

258 


T'winkletoes 


To  her  it  had  hrought  only  lonehness, 
almost  iiitolerahle  loneliness.  So  that  each 
night  when  the  dusk  came  and  blotted  out 
the  processional  street  she  would  drop  the 
blind,  and  loosen  her  hair — now  of  a  bilious 
hue — and  take  a  black  bottle  from  its  hiding- 
place,  and  stretch  herself  on  the  bed. 


THE  END 


259 


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